


Your Name

by SunshineChildx



Category: RWBY
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, It's the 'Kimi No Na Wa/Your Name' story but in Bumbleby version, Minor Jaune Arc/Pyrrha Nikos, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-01-24 02:14:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 80,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18561874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunshineChildx/pseuds/SunshineChildx
Summary: This is a story about time, the thread of fate, and the hearts of two young souls. The day the stars fell, two lives changed forever. High-schoolers Yang and Blake are complete strangers living separate lives. But one night, they suddenly switch places. Yang wakes up in Blake's body, and viceversa. This bizarre occurrence continues to happen randomly, and the two must adjust their lives around each other. Yet, somehow, it works. They build a connection and communicate by leaving notes, messages, and more importantly, an imprint. When a dazzling comet lights up the night's sky, something shifts, and they seek each other out wanting something more - a chance to finally meet. But try as they might, something more daunting than distance prevents them. Is the string of fate between Blake and Yang strong enough to bring them together, or will forces outside their control leave them forever separated?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own these characters nor the story around this fanfiction. They belong to Rooster Teeth (RWBY) and Makoto Shinkai respectively.

The sky is fragmented, broken like it never has been before. But for some reason, the vision makes a fascinating experience. Her whole body shudders, as if it knew what those lights meant long before she could even tell. As if part of her had accepted what they would bring. A promise, a spectacle, a vision, an omen, a curse. A fortunate event, a destiny already written. As if that part of her had already lived it and this was nothing more than a memory of some past live of hers. And, at the same time, this scenario is like nothing she’s ever lived before.

With a silent hum, as if insignificant, hundreds of colored fragments pierce the sky beyond where she can see them. Drawing jagged lines in the turquoise vault, each of them gives off messy sparks of all shades. Blue, pink, green, yellow, orange. The lights dance around their beam that keeps falling, falling.

The choppy sunlight catches these fragments of sky with a thousand other colors in response, until they cross the mountain chain that forms the fluffy coating of clouds.

And it falls, falls. Until there are no more clouds and their companions are lost in the sky. The sparks of light follow this unique fragment of the universe in its descent, along with the silent buzz that it brings with it.

The city below soon glimpses the scene in awe. Undoubtedly, to see the sky sprinkled with touches that follow the beam of the comet is a unique vision. For years people will talk about how a legendary comet kissed that forgotten village with a thousand colors.

The lights of the city flicker, expectant. And the fragment falls, falls, like fulfilling an old promise that nobody knew how to hear.

Her heart shrinks, expectant. And she know that all her lilac irises now reflect is the glow of the comet.

 

* * *

 

Her eyes are closed, tightly shut, but still her senses betray her. A voice that she remembers as serene dances in her ears and a sweet smell tickles in her nose. They both give her a feeling that she know well, and her chest shrinks a little. Nostalgia. The light filters through her eyelashes, warm and pleasant, inviting her to open her eyes.

She finds herself pressed against a person that's very important to her, perfectly fitted, without any space between them. Her chest, still a little shrunk, rests on the other girl’s, steadier, and some locks of her dark hair carelessly touch her cheek, almost tickling her. She looks away. They are bound together in a way that’s difficult to understand. In this moment she doesn’t feel a trace of worry, loneliness or fear, but she’s filled with the greatest sense of calm she’s ever felt, and a feeling of belonging floods through her chest. Like coming home after a long journey. Like holding the hand of someone you love. Like a much needed hug on a long day. A sweet feeling of having a unique place for her in the world wraps her whole body.

Intoxicated by this sense of calm, she gathers her courage and raises her eyes. That’s when the other girl’s sparkling golden eyes find the lilac of hers.

All of a sudden, she opens her eyes.

The ceiling of her room welcomes her. It takes her a few seconds to clear the fog in her mind, blurring the line between dream and reality. She discovers that it must be morning already; one like any other since she’s came to live alone in Atlas. She closes her eyes again, trying to grasp the sensation that a few seconds ago had filled her body and that now was fading away. _Of course, I was dreaming_. Shaking her head and making a little effort, she gets out of the comfortable embrace of the bed.

In the two seconds that have barely passed since she opened her eyes, that warm sense of familiarity fades between her fingers, despite her best efforts to keep it – to try to remember what caused it in the first place. The sensation is lost as quickly as it came, leaving no trace, no lasting echo. It happens so abruptly that, almost with no time to think about anything, tears come streaming down her face.

Sometimes, when she wakes up in the morning, she finds herself crying.

 

 

_But she can never remember what she was dreaming about._

_Sitting on her bed, she stares at her right hand that wiped her tears just now. She notices that on her index finger still rests a rebel, immobile tear. Something swirls inside of her when she sees it, but she can hardly say exactly what it is. The tears that wet the back of her hand soon dry up and fade away as if they had never been there, just like the dream she had just a few moments ago and that she’s still trying to remember. That unknown feeling twists inside like every morning, telling her there’s something important. And like every morning, she can’t find an answer. This feeling, like the tears, like the dream, will fade if she waits long enough. Yet she’s still staring at her right hand, focusing all her senses, looking for the answer to that question that she lost long ago._

_She knows there was something important in her hand some time ago. Something so important that her heart shudders with an unknown and terribly familiar sensation. She closes her hand with a reflex action, as if she could protect that something somehow – until she finds out what it was. Until she forgets again._

_She knows there was something important, but what could it have been?_

_Dazed and without an answer, like every morning, she gives up. She gets up from bed, clearing her mind of these confused thoughts, leaves the room and goes to the bathroom. Even so, the feeling of having lost something follows her for a while._

_As she washes her face to finally clear away these incoherent feelings, she gets the estrange impression that she was once amazed at the warm temperature and taste of this water. She shoves aside these thoughts, too, which don’t make sense because she’s live her whole life in Atlas and she’s never tasted another water. Her gaze then finds the reflection of her golden eyes in the mirror. At the top of her head, one of her dark faunus ears twiches. She grimaces. A rather dissatisfied face looks back at her, and she still hasn’t made disappear the feeling that she’s missing something._

 

 

She carefully combs her wild blonde hair while she looks absent-mindedly in the mirror. The lilac in her irises shines tired, like many mornings. She gets distracted looking for something to eat for breakfast and pauses an extra second as she walks past the photo she took with her sister last summer. With her bright smile and her arm over her little shoulders, she makes a mental promise to call her this afternoon.

She passes her arm through the sleeves of the spring dress still with her head distracted, ready to go through a day like any other. Yet in her mind there are still traces of a dream, of a familiarity that she doesn’t quite understand but that doesn’t fade away either.

 

 

_Satisfied, she tightens the tie that she’s finally used to knot and she puts on the suit, dark as the waves of hair that fall nearly on her back. Though at first she didn’t quite like it, thanks to the fact that in that fancy institute they made them wear, both boys and girls, suits and ties for class, she got used to them. She checks again that the pants are perfectly fine and she gives herself a nod of approval in the mirror. A faint gold gaze looks back at her, but she ignores it._

 

 

Making sure everything is all right and leaving herself a note so she doesn’t forget to call, she opens the apartment door.

 

 

_With a gentle thud, she closes the apartment door behind her. The morning light filters through her eyelashes and, like every morning, she rediscovers the landscape that’s now in front of her and that has watched her grow._

 

 

In front of her stretches the urban landscape of Atlas. She’s been living in this city for just a couple of years, yet it never fails to amaze her. Every day she finds herself discovering new things about it. Just as some time ago she memorized easily the name of the mountains where she felt the grass beneath her feet, now she can name some of the skyscrapers of the enormous and shiny metropolis that welcomed her. Holding her breath, with that slight feeling always at the back of her head, she ventures into it.

 

 

_She’s going fast. The access machines to the station are full of people, and she dives into this sea of strangers lost in her thoughts. She stopped feeling offended by sporadic racist comments a long time ago. Discrimination against the faunus had fallen so much in the last decades thanks to a peaceful equality organization. Atlas being the capital, here it’s much more difficult to see this type of attitude now, where faunus and humans have been working in friendly terms for many years. For this reason, her eyes proudly rest on top of her head. She goes down the mechanical stairs…_

 

 

… And she gets on the train to go to work, like every morning. She leans against the door when it closes, starting the familiar rocking of the train at the start of the ride, and she observes the landscape that flows in front of her fast, like a movie. Trains, animals, cars, bikes, shops, children playing, old people going for a walk, young people going to school… her eyes hop from one to another, distracted, but inside she feels like she’s silently looking for something. It’s been a while since she feels like this, always looking for something, someone, in the huge crowd around her, not knowing exactly what she’s trying to find.

 

 

_Above her stretches a spring sky, faded white tones bathing the scenery that she’s seeing through the clean window of the train, beyond her reflection. Even so, her gaze focuses again on her hand for a second, and the sensation bursts back into her chest with sudden force. She ignores it with all her might; she doesn’t know exactly what it’s asking of her. She thinks of herself, of the place she holds in this city, in this world. She thinks of the people who care about her, and she thinks of the sense of emptiness that she secretly feels inside. Like she’s missing something, someone she doesn’t remember. As if she was alone, completely alone, in a wagon that carries a hundred people. On a train carrying a thousand strangers in a city with thousands of trains flowing through it, she observes._

 

 

And as she always does, she unconsciously contemplates the city. Searching for a feeling she doesn’t remember, but that tightens in her chest with the strength of a forgotten miracle. With the corner of her eye she catches her hair reflected on the window, the blond locks of hair intertwining and splitting with ease. Like the affluent of a river, merging and emerging. Like train tracks, with the thousands of people they carry, separating and converging.

 

 

_She’s immersed, trying to make sense of that feeling that flows through her chest and that cries out for her to find something, someone._

 

 

… And she looks for a person. A single person.


	2. A strange day that I don't remember

Chapter 1.

 

The first thing Blake is aware of is that insistent noise breaking the silence. The sound of an alarm going off. The second thing she’s aware of is that it’s an alarm she doesn’t recognize.

She turns around, completely drowsy. She wonders if there’s any way to stop this noise without moving too much, or else she might break this slumber she’s in and that doesn’t sound too appealing. Blake feels tired, though she’s pretty sure she’s slept. Memories of staying up late the night before wrapped in her drawings fly over her mind, and for a solid moment she curses herself for having this bad habit.

Blake remembers the shy rays of sunshine filtering through her curtains inside her room last night, when she hadn’t yet gone to sleep. She remembers the warmth, and the drowsiness. A pleasant fog covers her mind now again, and she lets it hold her.

“...ke... Blake...”

Through the thick fog of her mind, a voice comes to her, muffled. She doesn’t know if it’s part of a dream or it’s really happening. She only knows that it’s the voice of a girl.

“Blake... Blake.”

The distant voice grows clearer in her eyes. For a moment it seems like that voice is on the verge of tears. Kind, as if it didn’t want to alarm her. But intense, as if claiming something from her. A voice that blinks like a distant star, broken with sadness, full of something Blake can’t read.

“Don't you remember me?”

The voice asks her with concern. For a moment, Blake feels a prick of nostalgia in her chest, but when she tries to dig deeper she discovers that as fast as it has come, it has faded away. She doesn’t recognize her at all.

Suddenly the train stops and the doors open. The thought comes fast like lightning. _It’s true_ , she’s in a train. Blake’s lost the notion of dream and reality, she only knows that she’s standing in a wagon full of people. At her back, at her side and all around her, the wagon is full of life. In the middle of all this hustle, she finds herself standing still. In front of her, two violet irises watch her intensely. A beautiful long blonde mane swings with the movement of the people around, who leave the train in a hurry. Blake realizes that the girl is wearing an orange ribbon on her hair, as if wanting to somehow tame her mane. The girl’s gaze is fixed on Blake, reflecting a mix of emotions that she wouldn’t quite know how to tell apart. Expectation, excitement, confusion, fear. Blake opens her mouth, feeling like she should say something. And the girl, her uniformed silhouette, starts to move away from her, pushed by the crowd getting off the train.

“My name is... Yang!”

The girl shouts while she unties easily and with decision the ribbon that stood out in her beautiful hair, and tends it towards Blake. Automatically, Blake extends her arm. Trying to get to her, to hold on to something. To the blonde girl, who is struggling to reach her. To the feeling that bursts in her chest that doesn’t have a name. To the ribbon she’s extending – vivid orange, like the sunset rays that filter through her window every evening; the last light of the day, warm and comforting. As the crowd pushes her, and as Yang distances herself more and more, Blake grasps that color tightly.

Then she wakes up.

The echo of that girl's words still resonates weakly in Blake’s ears. Or maybe the memory of her voice is in her mind.

_Yang..._

She doesn’t recognize that girl nor her name, but… she looked heartbroken. Blake closes her eyes and her gaze finds her again. What she remembers, at least. Those eyes on the verge of tears, the brightest lilac she’s ever seen. Iridescent, as if colored at will. Refulgent. But so heartbroken. And that uniform she’s never seen in her life. Yang had a serious and downcast expression, as if she held the destiny of the universe itself in her delicate hands.

Blake releases the air she hadn’t notice she was holding. As she opens her eyes and regain consciousness, she also gets back her common sense. It’s just a dream. _It’s just a dream_. It doesn’t have any special meaning, it’s just her brain coming up with impossible scenarios and people that are not real. In fact, when Blake tries to remember the features of Yang’s face, they are already diffuse and hard to grasp. Even the echo in her ears has disappeared.

_Still..._

Still, Blake’s heart is still pounding loudly, trying to escape the prison of her chest, like wanting to give the dream the meaning and importance that her head doesn’t. Confused, she decides to inhale. And breathe out. Her heartbeat calms down after a few of those, and that’s when she really discovers where she is.

Blake looks around and finds, in amazement, how a room she’s never seen before stretches in front of her. On her right, a large window shows the rural landscape that's on the other side. Trees, grass, birds, and an intense blue sky that she doesn’t recognize extend as far as her eyes can reach. On her left is a nightstand with a couple of books with titles she hasn’t read before, and a frame with a photo of two young girls with huge smiles, but that she doesn’t recognize either.

She looks around, puzzled. A shelf full of books, a half-opened closet with messy clothes falling out, an old lamp hanging from the ceiling, a corkboard with stickers, notes and photos stuck with thumbtacks, a calendar, a study table with more books and a large music player, a uniform hanging on a hanger on the wall, and again the window letting playful rays of sunshine through. She looks at her surroundings as if it weren’t her eyes that were gazing, but as if it was a movie and Blake was the one watching what happens. She tries to remember if she’s ever been in a place like this, but nothing comes to mind. Maybe she’s still dreaming.

“…?”

She feels a strange sensation in her chest. Physically weird, as if it were heavier than usual. She looks down and finds that she has indeed a bigger chest than she did yesterday. Blake didn’t think it would grow any more, and even less overnight, but it’s undeniable that they’re bigger. And she doesn’t recognize the nightgown she’s wearing, either. _It’s like…_

“Are you still in bed, Yang?”

She quickly turns to the voice and finds a girl standing by the door. She recognizes her as one of the smiling girls from the framed picture she saw before next to the bed. The girl is probably two or three years younger than Blake, she calculates by her height. Black hair falls messily over her eyes, not longer than the height of her shoulders. Her pose is relaxed, wearing a sweet, peaceful expression, but there’s something about her that fascinates Blake – the silver color that glows in her irises, shiny and soft. Blake hasn’t quite understood what she said.

“Yang...?”

Blake points at herself, as if asking the girl while she tilts her head slightly in confusion.

“Are you still half asleep?” The girl answers, and the sweetness of her eyes fades a little. “Breakfast is ready, come down whenever you’re fully awake.”

She closes the door with a sharp thud, leaving Blake a bit startled. As if on cue, Blake’s guts roar. The idea of going down and have breakfast sounds great to her. She’s getting up when, from the corner of her eye, she finds a stand-up mirror. Blake stares at it.

Following an invisible impulse that pulls her, Blake takes a few steps through the warm wooden floor until she stands before it. Her mind is silent, the only thing Blake sees is her reflection. She slides her nightgown slightly over her shoulders, still warm, and the fabric falls lightly to the ground. Blake’s naked, but she doesn’t feel cold nor hot. She doesn’t feel anything. Without blinking, she observes the body that’s reflected in the mirror.

With tangles here and there, a long blond mane like a waterfall frames a rounded face, lilac eyes, large and expressive, and soft lips. Below, the delicate curve of the neck and marked clavicles, and breasts that are indeed larger than Blake’s. Some ribs slightly visible, and from there a waist marked by a soft curve.

“Huh?”

Blake fanatically stares at the face that returns her gaze. Jumping from one point to another with her eyes, opened wide, there’s no doubt that’s her. But, at the same time, the girl Blake sees in the mirror is someone she’s never seen in her life.

“What...?”

She runs her hands through the body – Blake’s body? – touching her face – Blake’s face? –passing her fingers through her hair. Blake feels the pressure of her own hands, her hair bristling. Her faunus ears are gone, too. Blake finds how little she hears without them, just the sounds of the birds outside and some muffled voices on the floor below. And the sound of her heart, hammering against her chest, echoing in her ears.

The lilac eyes that look back at her in the mirror are puzzled, frightened, confused. And yet, they are the most beautiful color Blake has ever seen.

Suddenly, the haze that filled her mind since she woke up vanishes. In an instant, her mind is crystal clear.

No longer able to contain herself anymore, Blake screams.

 

* * *

 

“You're slow today,” Ruby says, not taking her eyes off her breakfast, when Yang enters the living room.

“I'll make breakfast tomorrow,” Yang replies apologetically. She hears the sounds of satisfaction coming from Ruby, mixed with noises of her chewing, so Yang understands she’s okay with it. She gets the toast Ruby had prepared for her in the toaster and grabs whatever is nearby to spread on it.

“You want what was left over last night, Grandma Calavera?”

With her mouth full of food, Ruby now turns to their grandmother, who is a few meters further in the kitchen frying some eggs. The old woman shakes her head. After a few minutes, she comes to the table with them, putting an egg on each one of their plates.

“So good,” Yang says, happy to please her belly. Grandma always says that breakfast is the most important meal of the day, and Yang agrees. She smiles at her. “Thank you, Grandma.”

As she eats, she notices a pair of eyes watching her, but Yang doesn’t bother to look up from her plate.

“You're normal today.”

Ruby comments with her eyes gleaming with curiosity, not taking her eyes off Yang, as if studying every movement she makes. Yang doesn’t like it. She waits for Ruby to continue elaborating, but she doesn’t add anything else.

“What?”

Yang asks. While she chews, Grandma also stares at her. Yang watches her, too. Her almost white greyish hair is collected in a discreet ponytail behind, with a small orange string on it, the same tone as the ribbon Yang’s been using on her hair every day. Her skin is rather darker than Ruby and Yang’s is, and she proudly shows the wrinkles that have grown on her skin over the years. As kids, she used to tell them that each wrinkle was a valuable lesson she had learnt in life, and Yang would reply fascinated that she had to be very wise, then. Yang doesn’t believe the whole wrinkle thing anymore, but she does believe that their Grandma is the wisest person she knows. Next to her, leaning on the table, is her skull-shaped cane that she’s had ever since Yang can remember. Perhaps it was because of it that everyone in the town started to affectionately call her Grandma Calavera, even if her real name is Maria.

Behind her huge glass lenses, her silvery eyes, like Ruby's, scrutinize Yang. This is uncomfortable.

“What?” Ruby repeats, as if the answer was something obvious. “Because yesterday you acted very strange! Weird! You were randomly shouting all the time...!”

Yang can believe the shouting part, she knows she’s loud and a very expressive person, but Ruby is used to the way Yang is and she’s usually just like her. Yang doesn’t understand what she must have done that was so strange in Ruby’s eyes and, most importantly, to Grandma. They both look at her like someone examining a suspicious object. Yang doesn’t like this feeling, doesn’t like being watched like this. Maybe they’re just teasing her.

“What are you talking about, Rubes?”

Yang frowns. Grandma looks away and focuses on drinking her tea, and Ruby looks even more confused that Yang doesn’t understand. But Yang’s resolved to not drop the subject until they tell her what’s going on.

<<Good morning everyone>>>

Suddenly the loudspeakers they have in the living room start to sound, and Yang almost flinches. In summer, Ruby and Yang use it to play music and dance, but Grandma always changes the channel to the town news, excessively loud.

<<This is a report from the town hall of Patch>>>

This voice belongs to Pyrrha's older sister – Pyrrha is Yang’s best friend – who works in the town hall's regional communications department. Patch has a population of about 1500 residents. As Yang lives in a dull and tiny village, most people are acquaintances or acquaintances of acquaintances. Yang holds her head with boredom in her left hand while she eats, giving up and listening to what the radio has to say. The sound of the first summer cicadas is can be heard off in the background.

<<Now we offer the news of the day>>

The words that emerge from the loudspeakers are pronounced with care, read word by word with enthusiasm. Because the loudspeakers are also installed outside the houses throughout the village, the retransmission sounds again and again with strength, as recited in canon, until it becomes heavy. But it's something they are all used to.

Every day and a total of twelve times, in the morning and at dusk, a retransmission through the wireless line of disaster prevention is emitted without fail. Every house in the village has a receiver, or radio as Ruby and Yang call it. Around there they are informed of the events of the village in an exhaustive and impeccable way – the date of the sports festival, the contact telephone number of those in charge of clearing the snow, who was born yesterday or whose funeral is today, and things like that.

<<As a result of the municipal elections for mayor of Patch on the 20th of next month, the Elections Administration Committee wishes to...>>

_Click._

The loudspeakers located on the post next to the porch of the house mute. Since she can't reach the speakers, Grandma, who’s more than 80 years old and always wears old and refined clothes, has disconnected the cable in a silent display of her anger. Neither Ruby nor Yang are surprised. As the election date approaches, this usually happens every morning. And if Grandma didn't turn off the radio every time they mentioned it, Yang would.

As usual every morning, Yang takes the remote control and turns on the television. The presenter of VTV, Vale Television, starts to speak cheerfully, and little by little the voice of Pyrrha's sister fades away.

“The arrival of this comet, which takes place once every 1200 years, is at last only a month away. It is estimated to be visible to the naked eye for several days and, with the imminence of what is now considered the celestial spectacle of the century, all the research agencies in the world, starting with the Atlas Aerospace Exploration Agency, have begun preparations for its observation.”

On the screen appears the headline <<The comet Tiamat, visible to the naked eye in a month?>> next to blurred images of it. For one reason or another, the conversation is interrupted and the only sound that’s left is the three of them eating breakfast, as if each one were lost in her own thoughts, mixed in the background with the broadcast of the VTV.

“Can’t you just make up and be okay with her?”

Ruby suddenly says. Her gaze is sincere and serious, almost demanding. Yang understands it's something she's worried about and something she's been thinking about for a long time, but Ruby doesn't know half the story, and Yang can't tell her. Something tightens up in her chest for a second, and the reply Yang gives her is more violent than she would have liked.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, it's adult stuff!”

Yang yells at her. She doesn’t look up to see her reaction, but she knows Ruby has looked at Grandma. Yang knows Grandma shares her thoughts, but she doesn’t answer anything to Ruby anyway. She shuts up, finishing her breakfast without adding anything else. In the distance there’s a sharp, lazy whistle of a black bird.

Yang finishes her food and goes up to her room. She’s in a hurry, she doesn’t want to be late for class, but this is something she has to do every morning. She opens the jewelry drawer, which only has a pair of earrings that she hasn’t worn in years, some necklaces, hairpins and bracelets that her friends gave her a long time ago. Yang delicately takes out the orange ribbon from the drawer and places it carefully in her hair, trying to tame some locks but not being able to prevent others from falling free and rebellious, framing her face. Yang smiles, satisfied, the mirror returning her gesture.

Ruby and Yang say goodbye to Grandma in unison and they leave the house. The warm ways of the sun, the air almost as warm as in summer, welcome them and Yang has to protect her eyes with the back of her hand. It’s a lovely day, and the summer songs of the mountain birds resound loud and clear.

They go down a very narrow asphalt slope and a few stone steps. The shadow of the mountain stops sheltering them and immediately the rays of the sun bathe them. Further down, in the center of the village, there’s a lake – Lake Patch. The light reflected on the surface, very quiet, shines endlessly, a mirror reflecting the blue of the sky during the day and the brightness of the stars at night. A blue sky with white clouds surrounds the mountains tinged with an intense green.

Next to her, Ruby, with the typical red schoolgirl backpack, walks jumping for no particular reason; and then there's Yang, a high school girl with her mane shining defying the color of the sun. Blond hair as the morning and orange ribbon as the sunset. Yang’s always liked the combination. She takes out her cell phone and plays a majestic stringed instrument track.

To be clear, they live in the middle of nowhere, in the typical rural village surrounded by mountains and nature, in the middle of an island also in the middle of nowhere. Here in Patch nothing ever happens, every day is quiet and everyone knows each other. Nothing to do with other Remnant cities, like Atlas and its greatness. Walking on the paved roads where cars rarely pass, and looking at the glowing calm of Lake Patch and the town around it, Yang thinks one day she will live in another city.

After leaving Ruby at school, Yang hears someone shouting behind her.

“Yang!”

They are Jaune, who pedals on his bike with enthusiasm but fairy tired, and Pyrrha, happily sitting on the rear luggage rack of the bicycle, greeting Yang with one of her kind smiles. Yang stares and she sees Pyrrha's holding on to the bike not falling because she's half-hugging Jaune by the waist. Yang doesn’t miss the slight blush on him either. She innerly smiles.

“Hello Pyrrha, Jaune!”

“Good morning, Yang!”

Pyrrha says, widening her smile, leaning forward from the inertia of Jaune stopping the bike. She's placing all her weight on his back, not stopping half-hugging him or smiling at Yang. Yang can't miss how Jaune's blush grows deeper.

“Don't lie down on me, Pyrrha,” Jaune says, trying to sound neutral, but he’s clearly embarrassed.

“Sorry, sorry,” not losing her smile, Pyrrha hugs him again.

“Get down already, will you?” The boy grumbles, now redder. Pyrrha laughs, clearly having fun.

“Whatever you say, party pooper.”

“I'm not a party pooper! I'm just saying...”

So this early in the morning, the show begins again. Not managing to stop a playful smile, Yang takes a moment to observe them. Jaune, Pyrrha and Yang have been friends since the beginning of time, but it's obvious that there's something else between them, something special. And she’s going to do everything she can to make them realize what everyone but them seem to notice. Even the way how they jokingly argue is special.

Jaune, with his marked jaw, deep blue eyes and shiny blond hair is no doubt a very handsome guy. Though his somewhat shy and insecure personality causes him many problems. Sometimes he hasn't come out of one and is already involved in another. But luckily Pyrrha is always there to help him – him, Yang, and whoever needs her, really – and brings out the best in everyone. Pyrrha is tall, beautiful, with sharp emerald eyes and a scarlet red mane that she always wears in a slender, tall ponytail. Also, her big heart and her friendly and sincere personality make her even more beautiful. Yang doesn’t think like this just because she’s her friend. Maybe just a little. But they're both great people, and Yang feels lucky to be their friend.

There they are, joking about some nonsense. It's clearly their way of flirting.

“You two get along pretty well lately, huh?”

Yang can't help the comment and laughter that goes with it. She starts to walk forward, but from the corner of her eye, she sees Jaune's blush grow impossibly deeper.

“Yes, of course!” Pyrrha grants, following Yang happily.

“Huh?” Jaune, now walking behind them and still red like a tomato, follows them. “What do you mean by that?”

Pyrrha and Yang chuckle together as Jaune keeps on complaining, not really getting anything.

Yang’s phone changes the song and now the soundtrack becomes a rhythmic guitar solo. They've been best friends for ten years now and they've always been very close. Even so, that ‘something’ special between them is undeniable. Their conversations are so fluid that, secretly, Yang can't help but wonder if they truly are made for each other.

“Yang, you’re wearing your hair as usual today, huh?”

Pyrrha tells her. Now she's already walking next to Yang, with a strange smile that she doesn’t quite understand, as she caresses Yang’s ribbon with her hand. Yang wonders what she means by that. She’s tied her hair as usual – with the ribbon making a loop at the top of her head, trying to tame some locks, but still leaving most of her mane free. It's a hairstyle Yang’s mother used to do for her a long time ago.

“Huh?” Yang tilts her head to look at her. Pyrrha doesn't add anything else. “The hair? What do you mean?”

The strange conversation at breakfast comes to her mind. _You're normal today_ , Ruby had said to her. So this means that yesterday Yang was really acting weird? She tries to remember what she did the day before, but Jaune interrupts her thoughts.

“Did your grandma purify you?” He asks her, looking concerned.

“What? Purify me?” Yang answer with a half-playful smile, hoping he'll laugh and tell her it's a joke, but the expression on her friend's face doesn't change.

“Yesterday you were completely possessed!” He exclaims, releasing the bike for a moment but picking it up again before it fell off.

“But what are you saying!?” Yang can't help but growl at him. Everybody is acting strange with her today. It's starting to bother Yang that she doesn’t understand what everyone's talking about.

Thanks to her kind heart, Pyrrha notices that Yang’s getting annoyed and intercedes for her.

“Don't say such things Jaune,” she shakes her head, then gives Yang a warm, understanding smile. “Yang is just stressed, isn't she?”

 _Stressed?_ She slows down, trying to understand what's going on. This morning's strange conversation repeats in her head, and it fits with what her friends are saying. But nothing they say makes sense to Yang. _Stressed by what?_ Is she behaving weird? A pinch of worry bites her, but Yang also considers the possibility that this is all a very elaborated joke. Anyway, if they keep this up they're probably going to face an angry Yang, all this is starting to bother her. But she’s going to try and reason with them first.

“Hold on... Wait a moment. What are you guys talking about?”

As she asks, her mind tries to place things in order. Everyone has been telling Yang that yesterday she was acting weird. _Yesterday..._ She tries to remember what she did yesterday, but right now it doesn't come to mind. But surely it was a day like any other.

_...Huh?_

_Is she sure it was, though?_

_Yesterday, Yang..._

“... And above all...!”

A deep voice amplified by a megaphone interrupts Yang’s thoughts.

In front of a row of greenhouses, in an excessively large open parking lot, a dozen people are crowded together. In the center, standing and holding a microphone, there's a tall woman with a determined expression. Her long raven-haired mane falls wild down on her shoulders, her eyes sparkling with bold fierce, analyzing the people in front of her.

Yang’s mother.

In the band that hangs diagonally over the torso of her suit jacket and that she wears with remarkable pride, Yang can read "Mayoress in functions – Raven Branwen". It has to be one of her campaign speeches in the run-up to the local elections. Something twists in Yang’s chest and she almost involuntarily shrinks. Her voice reaches Yang’s ears sharply, pounding and echoing, reaching deep inside no matter how much she tries to ignore it. Yang clenches her fists without realizing it.

“... And above all, it is absolutely necessary to continue cleaning up the public coffers in order to give continuity to our main project: to revitalize our municipality! When we do, we will finally create a safe and peaceful community for everyone. Therefore, as mayoress in functions, my desire is to bring to good port all these proposals with which, thanks to your trust, I have had the honor of getting involved up to now. I want to continue polishing our home! And with renewed energy, I wish with all my might to continue to lead this village in order to create a community where everyone, from the youngest to the oldest, can live in harmony! This is my mission, my renewed promise...!”

She speaks so enthusiastically and professionally that she reminds Yang of the politicians she sees on TV, and she can't help but notice the contrast her mother makes by giving such a speech in the middle of a parking lot surrounded by rice fields. Anyone who hears the speech will nod to the beautiful words of encouragement and promises she is chanting with no hesitation. Only Yang looks away, seeing the message hidden behind that fake façade, those confident statements and those red eyes. Only Yang knows her true face. She tries to get pass them, to walk fast, _faster_.

Passing by, but watching the scene with the corner of her eye, Yang can't help but hear the whispers that people give off. And these, like her mother's piercing voice, sink into her eardrums like darts hitting the target.

“Raven Branwen will win again.”

“Everybody says so, yes.”

“I've heard that she goes around threatening the other candidates.”

“She will be re-elected again.”

The whispers only make Yang feel worse. She looks away and continues to walk; digging her nails into the palms of her hands, silently wishing Jaune and Pyrrha would walk faster. Wishing she could vanish like smoke from that scene, from her mother's field of vision, and from all these people's.

“Hey, Branwen.”

_Really? Yang can't believe this._

A group of three classmates she can’t stand at all comes up to her. In high school they're the cool guys, and they take every opportunity they have to remind the rest of the class who's in charge. Cardin and his bunch of _idiots_. It's not the first time they've spoken to Jaune, Pyrrha and her to make them feel awful, and it won't be the last. Yang bites the inside of her cheek until it tastes like blood. If she wanted to have a fight with them it would be very easy, but Grandma has taught her that conflicts shouldn’t be solved with violence.

Even so, Yang can't stand being called by her mother's surname. It represents nothing of her. It's not her name. It's not Yang.

“Xiao Long,” Yang answers, looking defiant. “My name is Yang Xiao Long.”

The boy who seems to be leading, Cardin, isn't impressed. He smiles amusingly at her, about to drop the bomb. Yang holds his gaze.

“The mayor and his builder,” he says. In an almost studied way, he turns to look at Yang’s mother, who keeps on her speech. As Yang looks too, she sees that next to her is Jaune's father, smiling from ear to ear. He's wearing the working jacket of his construction company and on his arm he has tied a band with the text "We support Raven Branwen". Then the boy looks at Jaune and Yang and goes on. “And their children are just as close together. What a coincidence.”

Yang’s guts revolve and she feels the anger growing inside of her, feeding on his words like a flame that rises and gets fiercer with each smile of superiority he gives her. But she decides not to bite back. It's not worth it, Yang tells herself. None of them are worth it. Not even her mother. _Especially_ not her mother.

Yang keeps walking, ignoring the boys in her class who look bored and almost disappointed that she didn't play along. Jaune follows her, and his usual carefree, gentle face has been replaced by a serious, grim look. Pyrrha follows them both, concerned. She touches Jaune's shoulder but says nothing.

“Yang!”

Someone shouts loudly. Yang shudders and she feels as if all the air in her lungs has vanished. For a second, she can’t breathe, she stops walking. She can't believe this.

Yang’s mother, who until just a few moments ago had kept on with her speech and her words of delusive hope, has turned away from the microphone and raised her voice towards her. The whispers that echoed in the air have also disappeared. Almost as if all the voices were gone and only the sound of Yang’s shaken breath remained in the void. Everyone who was listening to Raven now turns around and watches her. Not turning, Yang feels a dozen pairs of eyes fixed on her, but she feels some eyes specially clawed in her neck, flaming, a blazing and unforgiving fire.

“Yang, walk with your head held high.”

Hearing her name coming from Raven’s lips gives Yang an unpleasant chill. Without looking at her, Yang continues to walk, defiant. Partly because she wants Raven to see that she has no control over her. And also partly, though Yang’s not going to admit this to anyone, cause she can't face her mother’s gaze just yet. Yang clenches the palms of her hands again, a sting of pain spreading up her arm, but Yang doesn’t care. Her face is burning. It's all so absurd that she even feels like crying out of frustration. She tries to control her breathing and avoid running. Taking big steps, Jaune, Pyrrha and Yang move quickly away from there.

Still, she cannot help but hear whispers again, digging into her ears.

“So she's also strict with her family.”

“I didn't expect less from the mayoress.”

Mixed with the whispers of Yang’s classmates.

“What a spectacle.”

“I almost feel sorry for her.”

“Luckily my mother is not like that.”

_This is awful._

Yang holds the strap of her backpack tightly and moves away as fast as she can. Jaune follows her closely, saying nothing because he also understands what Yang’s feeling. She can see his white knuckles clutching tightly at the handlebars of his bike. Pyrrha approaches them and stands in between, walking and saying comforting words that don't really get to Yang.

The soundtrack inside her mind has been turned off without her noticing. This has made Yang realize, once again, that life in this town without a good background soundtrack is extremely suffocating.


	3. Someday. Someone special.

The chalk on the blackboard makes a sharp sound when the teacher writes a poem on it.

 

_“Who is she?_

_Don't ask me._

_I wait for my beloved._

_While the dew bathes me._

_In the morning.”_

 

“This verse is translated from it's original language, one much older than ours and that nowadays is almost entirely lost. The expression ‘the morning dew’ was written with a word that today resembles the etymology of the word ‘crepuscule’. You know to what moment the word ‘crepuscule’ refers, don't you?” Professor Goodwitch asks in a clear voice as she writes ‘crepuscule’ on the blackboard with firm, whitish lines of chalk. “In other words, it is ‘dusk’. A period of time that is neither evening nor night. It means ‘declining phase that precedes the end of something’. That is to say, when the end of the day seems to have come, the dusk still has time to offer.”

She gently leaves the chalk on the desk and turns towards the class, leaning slightly over the desk, as if what she was about to say was a secret between the students and her. Yang raises her head in curiosity.

“Dusk. When the world vanishes. Human silhouettes start to fade and it's hard to tell where one ends and the next begins,” the professor says. “It's the moment when it is possible to meet beings who aren't from this world, such as demons, ghosts of people and even spirits. Or so they say.”

She turns to the blackboard again, writing more things again and returning to the monotone in her voice. Yang picks up a pencil and starts doodling in her notebook as she listens to her.

“The old expression ‘the hour of the demons’ is another superstitious way of calling it,” Goodwitch continues. “Another is ‘twilight’, the etymology of which is even older.”

The professor now writes ‘twilight’ with impeccable handwriting. Yang’s lost all interest, but Goodwitch’s words still echo in her distracted mind. ‘ _The dusk still has time to offer’_.

“I have a question, teacher!” A boy raises his hand “Isn’t this also called ‘sunset’?”

Yang lightly nods at this. She obviously knows the meaning of ‘crepuscule’ as well, but since she was a little girl the word she’s used to talk about dusk at home is ‘sunset’, of course. Memories come to Yang’s mind of Grandma Calavera sometimes calling Ruby and her at nightfall to tell them that the sunset was about to begin, the three of them sitting on the porch watching the last lights of the day fade away.

Professor Goodwitch smiles sweetly. Yang really doesn’t understand what a beautiful classical literature teacher like her is doing in a small town high school like this one. The professor is tall and slender, blond hair always gathered at the back but with some loose locks in braids that frame her face. She's usually serious and strict, and if the students make too much fuss she scolds them but sometimes she smiles and gives away how much she secretly cares for them. As young as she is, Yang thinks it's a shame she's not in a bigger city or one with a better future than Patch.

“Yes, it is,” Goodwitch continues. “I see you quite understand the variants of ‘crepuscule’, even though it’s in disuse now. You probably learn many antique words from your grandparents; I've heard it said that among the older people of Patch there are still traces of the speech that appears in the old poems.”

 _It's just that we live at the back of beyond_ , one girl says giggling a little, and Yang internally agrees with her. She rests her head on her hand, bored. Patch is very nice, quiet and surrounded by nature, but she’d like to live somewhere else, somewhere more exciting, if only for a day. Yang passes the pages of her notebook while she thinks a little longer about it, and she finds some very large letters written on a page that should be blank.

 

**"Who are you?"**

 

_...Huh?_

_What is this?_

All the sounds around her fade away, as if the unknown letters had sucked them in. Yang stares at the paper, absorbed. Thick strokes, big and abrupt, like nervous, fill the whole page. This isn't Yang’s handwriting. She hasn’t lent her notebook to anyone either, as far as she can remember. Yang frowns. _What? What does "who are you" mean?_

“Xiao Long!”

“Uh, yes!”

Yang stands up quickly, startled, while Professor Goodwitch asks her to read page ninety-eight. She nods, somewhat embarrassed that she was distracted, but Goodwitch smiles at her strangely and adds.

“Oh, you seem to remember your name today, Yang.”

The class bursts out in complicit laughter as they look at Yang, some directly and others sideways. It's like everyone knows what's going on except her. Standing in the middle of the class, holding the book in her hands, Yang’s once again wrapped in the feeling that something strange, very strange, is happening. And she needs to find out what it is as soon as possible.

 

* * *

 

“So, you don't remember?”

Pyrrha, sitting in front of Yang, looks at her with the most puzzled expression Yang’s ever seen. She understands from her soft tone of voice that she wants to help her, but not knowing what's going on, what happened yesterday, and not being told yet, makes Yang nervous.

“No,” Yang says, as if she hadn't made it clear enough already that she has no idea what everyone is talking about today. “I don't remember, Pyrr.”

“Really?” She insists, still glancing at Yang with her big green eyes. _Is it so hard to believe that I don't remember what happened yesterday?_

“I'm serious!” Yang answers, emphasizing her words while she gives a sip to her milkshake. She looks at Jaune, who's sitting on a desk between the two girls, observing Yang with the same skepticism as the redhead. “Can anyone tell me what's going on?”

“It's just...” Pyrrha finally begins to speak. Yang leans towards her. “Yesterday you didn't remember which one was your desk or where your locker was.”

“What?” Yang laughs. “We've been in this school for years now! How could I forget?”

“You didn't have your usual hairstyle with your ribbon either,” Jaune adds, chewing his sandwich. “In fact, your hair was all tangled, as if you just woke up.”

“Me? Without my ribbon? And not taking care of my hair?” Yang gestures with the milkshake in her hand. “Are you sure you're talking about me?”

“You weren't wearing the uniform's bow,” Pyrrha adds as if she just remembered.

“And you were in a really bad mood all day,” Jaune grimaces and folds his arms across his chest.

Yang tries to imagine it in her mind. For Ruby and for Grandma Calavera, she tries every day to be as optimistic and positive as she can. She’s also like that with her friends, Jaune and Pyrrha know that Yang’s a ray of sunshine with everyone. And they also know how much she loves her hair. She always tries to take the best care of it, and she always wears the hairstyle her mother Summer used to do for her. It's Yang’s way of taking her wherever she goes, of not feeling alone. Yang can't imagine being herself without doing these things. It's as if the person they're describing isn't Yang at all, as if they're talking about someone else.

“It can't be,” Yang shakes her head, confused, looking at both of them. “Are you really _really_ sure?”

“Yes...” Pyrrha nods slowly, as if saying that she wouldn't believe it if she was Yang either. “It felt like you had amnesia or something yesterday.”

Dazed, Yang tries to remember. For a moment, she tries to look for something in her memories that fits what they're saying. But something's wrong. She doesn’t remember anything from yesterday. She runs into the most absolute nothing in her mind. As if the memories were hidden from herself, out of her reach, where Yang doesn’t even know where to look. _Wait_. No, that's not true. There _is_ something. Yang remembers little fragments from the day before.

The landscape of a place comes to mind. A city... _That she doesn’t know?_

And in the mirror... _The reflection of a girl?_

Yang’s trying to remember with all her might, find something else to hold on to. Something that makes sense of everything that's been going on today. But she doesn’t find anything, no solid memory that can give her a clue. She just... She finds a strange feeling, as if it were all part of a bizarre and complicated dream.

“This doesn’t make sense…”

Yang mutters, but Pyrrha and Jaune look at her, expectant.

“Hum... It's as if... I feel as if I've had a very strange dream...” Yang starts, but the confusion in their eyes tells her that they aren't understanding a thing. She tries to elaborate a little more. “As if... As if in the dream I was living someone else's life... Or something like that. It's weird. I can't remember it well...”

“Oh, I know!” Jaune interrupts her all of a sudden, giving Yang a good scare. “These are the memories of your previous life!”

Pyrrha and Yang look at each other, not understanding what he meant. Pyrrha doesn't try to hide how little she believes him, but she still looks at Jaune, encouraging him to continue.

“Don't look at me like that! I know what you're both thinking – that has no scientific basis, blah, blah. But let me explain it in another way!” He defends himself. Pyrrha nods, pretending interest, and Yang shrugs her shoulders. If he says something silly, Yang can always make a joke about it later. “Surely what has happened is that your subconscious has connected with the multiverse, just as Everett describes in his interpretation of multiple worlds...!”

“What are you trying to say, Jaune?” Pyrrha intervenes kindly before he gets too excited talking about things that only he understands.

“I say Yang has connected with a parallel universe!” He exclaims enthusiastically. “Or maybe with another reality. I don't know, the possibilities are endless!”

“Are you serious about this?” The redhead tilts her head, not losing her kind smile but clearly, she doesn't take to heart what the boy is saying.

“Of course!” He insists, frowning. “How else are you going to explain how Yang acted yesterday? And what about the strange dreams she just mentioned? Huh?”

“But... Parallel universes sounds a little...?”

Watching the two of them argue, Yang contains a laugh, even though the unrelated images she remembers from yesterday still float in her mind. That stunning and radiant landscape that she doesn’t recall ever seeing. And the blurred reflection of someone in the mirror. A girl. _But... who?_ Yang tries to focus, going over all the strange things that have happened to her today. Then she exclaim something, interrupting the discussion of these two.

“You didn't write in my notebook, did you, Jaune?”

“What do you mean?”

The blond boy tilts his head, with no idea what Yang’s talking about. She leans back again on the back of the chair, almost dejected. _Then it wasn't him..._ After all, Jaune isn't one of those who go around making mean jokes. And he wouldn't take Yang’s notebook without asking first. Pyrrha wouldn't either. And Yang doubts it was anyone else in the class, they would've written something different. The black and inquisitive letters are redrawn in Yang’s mind. **"Who are you?"**

“No, nothing. I'm sorry,” Yang takes it back, looking up to the swallows dancing around the schoolyard. With this good weather, they must be very well up there. It must be cool, being able to fly and go wherever you want. You wouldn't have to be stuck in a small town in the middle of nowhere.

“Huh? What do you mean by that?” Jaune insists.

“It's nothing, forget it,” Yang says, rolling her eyes.

“Seriously now, Yang. Yesterday you were quite strange...” Pyrrha confesses, approaching her with the chair and putting a comforting hand on her arm, a sincere look on her green eyes. “Are you sure you're all right?”

“Yes, I'm fine,” Yang answers, placing her hand on her friend’s and squeezing affectionately. “I guess it's what you said before, I must be stressed...”

“I'm sure it's just that,” Pyrrha nods, more cheerful now that she more or less has a logical answer. Though Yang doesn’t really think she has stress, but she doesn’t want to worry them with her weird ideas and silly dreams anyway. “You've been very busy lately, haven't you?”

“It's true, the ritual...!” Yang says in a gloomy tone. She places her legs on the chair and hides her face between her knees. “Please, don't remind me.”

Pyrrha is right, a lot has happened in Yang’s life lately. As if she didn't have enough with the municipal elections and having to listen to Raven almost daily on the radio, and even see her on the street, tonight it's her turn to do the ritual. How can it be that in such a small town, her mother is the mayoress, and her grandmother is the priestess of the sanctuary of the God of Creation? Yang makes a sound in her throat, a mix between a sigh and a sob, and she feels Pyrrha's hand stroking her back as if trying to cheer her up.

“Aaah!” Yang suddenly jumps up, startling Pyrrha. She raises her fists towards the sky, where the swallows keep spinning. “I want to graduate and move to Atlas so bad! Look at how small this place is and all the work it gives me!”

Pyrrha nods vehemently, as if agreeing with Yang. ‘I understand you, you don't know how much I understand you’, she seems to say.

“Counting my mother, my sister and me, there are now three of us in my family in charge of radio broadcasts,” Pyrrha gives Jaune and Yang a tired half smile. “Grandmothers in the neighborhood have been calling me ‘the little girl on the radio’ since I was a child. And, not knowing how, I also ended up in the broadcasting club in high school!”

“Pyrrha, as soon as we graduate, we're going to Atlas!” Yang exclaims, letting the illusion bathe her words. Pyrrha rises from her chair and stands besides her, nodding with Yang’s energy reflected in her irises. They both look at the boy. “Jaune, you're coming too.”

“Huh?” He says, absent-mindedly tilting his head.

“You're coming with us,” Yang insists. “In Atlas you'll be whatever you want!”

“Ah... I don't know,” he says, scratching his neck and looking behind him. Yang follows his gaze and finds the outline of the houses of the village, beyond the high school and Lake Patch.

Pyrrha and Yang deflate like beach balls. He seems to notice, and adds something.

“My whole family lives here, my seven sisters and my parents,” He shrugs his shoulders, staying is the most obvious choice for him. “I guess I'll end up working with my father too and living here.”

“But Jaune,” Pyrrha places a hand on his knee, looking at him with eyes still hopeful, as if wanting to keep alive the possibility of leaving Patch and living together in a city like Atlas. “The world has many more possibilities to offer. Moving out is a real option.”

“Yes,” he nods, looking back at the village with affection. “But we still have time to decide that.”

Yang nods. The wind rises around her and she follows its course with her eyes, towards Lake Patch, below, calm and foreign to their problems.

_We still have time._

 

* * *

 

Excited by the idea of going to live in Atlas – or anywhere outside this place, really –, on the way home from high school Pyrrha and Yang have started to make a list of the bad or boring things that Patch has. Partly because they want to convince Jaune to come with them; and partly because this town simply has so many boring things.

In Patch they don't have a bookstore or a dentist. As a child, Yang had to read and reread the same stories to Ruby again and again, to the point that they both know most of them by heart now. The train passes once every two hours, there are four buses a day, their area doesn't appear in the weather forecasts, and the Google Maps satellite images are still a blurred mosaic. It's almost as if Patch and the rest of the world had agreed to make this island have as little contact with the outside world as possible. The 24h supermarket closes at nine o'clock at night, but they do have many vegetable seeds and agricultural tools of the best quality. _We are a farmers' village_ , Yang thinks with disdain.

They don't have McDonald's or Mos Burger, but there are two adult bars they won't let them into. There's no work, there aren't any candidates for future wives for the farmers, and on top of that they have few hours of sun, which makes Yang sad because she loves the daylight.

And so they continue, linking one complaint with another without stopping. Actually, Yang doesn’t hate Patch as much as it seems. Usually the fact that the town is in the middle of nowhere, with its pure and refreshing air, its endless green fields, its formidable protective mountains and the immense Lake Patch, makes Yang feel happy inside, and sometimes even proud to live in it. But today it makes Pyrrha and her feel like they live in the very last corner of the world.

Jaune, pedaling behind them, stops the bike with a sharp noise.

“That's enough, isn't it?”

He growls. Looks like they've drained his patience with so much complaint about the village. Jaune is less of a dreamer than Pyrrha and Yang are. He's more realistic and has always had a special affection for Patch. His goals and ambitions are things like finishing high school and working in his father's company. Accessible and simple things, not crazy dreams. Here's everything he could ask for. While for Yang... when she thinks about staying here all her life, something tightens in her chest. She needs to go out, explore, live adventures and have a life worth remembering. She knows that Pyrrha, though she's somewhere in between Jaune and her, also feels this need to experience new things. Yang knows she'll do great things when they leave Patch. And she knows that Jaune could, as well. But she has to respect the decision he makes in the future, if he decides to stay.

“I'm sorry, Jaune,” Yang apologizes, and she sees that Pyrrha thought of doing the same.

“We know how much you like Patch,” Pyrrha says with an apologetic tone.

“But let us dream a little!”

Yang folds her arms, making a half-joking face. Seeing their expressions, the blond smiles strangely.

“Come on, let's change the subject,” he says. “Don't you want to go to a cafeteria?”

“Huh?” Yang says.

“Go to a...” Pyrrha adds. “To a...”

Pyrrha opens her eyes wide, as if waiting for Jaune to repeat what he said in case she hasn't heard right. Yang comes closer to him, eyes opened as wide as Pyrrha’s, and Jaune takes a step back with the bike, almost intimidated. _Is he serious?_ They've wanted to go to a cafeteria for years but there isn't one in town and they often complain about it. Yang thinks about eating refined cakes, smoothies, pancakes and teas and it makes her mouth water. She sees the same craving in Pyrrha's expression. They get even closer to Jaune.

“A cefeteria?!” They shout in unison.

 

* * *

 

 _Clin, clin_. The metallic sound melts with the song of the cicadas.

“Here you go.”

Jaune tells them with a funny smile while he offers the girls two cans that he has just taken from a vending machine. A scooter passes making its characteristic buzz along the road and drowns out all the other sounds for a moment. An older man who’s probably coming home from the countryside drives it. _We're a village of farmers_ , Yang says to herself again with disappointment as she pick up the can her friend is offering to her. A big stray dog that's usually in this area lies next to them, yawning. Even he understands Patch's existential boredom.

What Yang had in mind when Jaune told them about the cafeteria wasn't exactly this. She imagined a Starbucks, or a Tully's, or one of those dreamy places that exist in other parts of the world where you can eat pieces of cake, doughnuts, Italian ice cream... But no, the three of them are sitting on the lame bench of a bus stop that's probably older than Jaune, Pyrrha and Yang put together. Next to the bus stop there's a poster of an ice cream ad that at least must've been hanging there for thirty years. And next to them is a dull vending machine from which Jaune has just taken the cans. The three of them sit in a row, with the stray dog at their feet, drinking their canned drinks without saying much.

More than feeling betrayed by Jaune, what Yang feels is resignation. _What else did you expect, Yang?_ It's not like she doesn’t know all of the things they can't do in this town. Deep down she knew there was no cafeteria, but part of her wanted to believe for a moment that they aren't practically cut off from the modern world. She rests her back on the bench and closes her eyes. She tries to imagine what it would be like to live in one of those huge, modern cities like Atlas, with those luxurious coffee shops full of lights and desserts like in the movies. The cicadas singing their monotonous background chant blur her daydream.

“Well, I'm going home now,” Yang tells them when she’s done with the can. She’s had enough of empty talks and discussions about whether it's a degree more or less warm today than it was yesterday. And she has a ritual to do, she reluctantly thinks.

“May tonight go well!” Pyrrha cheers her up with a big smile.

“We'll go to see you later,” Jaune adds, making a farewell gesture.

“There's no need!” Yang implores. They've seen her do the ritual before, but she’s still embarrassed anyway, and she’d prefer if as few people as possible saw her. “In fact, don’t come!”

Yang turns around and starts walking home. She knows they're not going to listen to her and they're going to come anyway because they're such good friends, but that doesn't make Yang feel any better. On the bright side, they'll probably come together. It's a good excuse for them to be alone. If her ritual and the embarrassment she’s going to go through helps them get closer, then she’ll be happy to do it, Yang thinks to herself.

After a while, when she has already climbed several stone steps, she turns around and watches the couple, sitting with the lake bathed by the sunset rays resting on their backs, and decides to add a lyrical piano melody in the background. Yang smiles. They are definitely just perfect for each other.

The wind rises and embraces her from behind. She sees how it gently rocks the fields and even the treetops of the mountains that surround the village, raising a dance of leaves. Some reach the calm surface of the lake, landing on it and intruding in its calm starting small waves on it. Yang stops and thinks that her life, in a way, is like Lake Patch – quiet, without surprises, peaceful. She wonders if, someday, someone will break into her calm and make waves with their presence like the leaves in the lake. She looks again at Jaune and Pyrrha, and feels a pinch of yearning.

_Yes, someday. Someone special._


	4. About threads and rituals

_Tap. Tap, tap._

The wood bumping against the strings, putting them in place, makes a sharp noise. The reels of threads, each of a different color, go up and down with the gentle rattling of the old machine.

_Tap. Tap, tap._

The threads are arranged in perfect harmony, following a specific but special pattern each time. Like different paths that reach the same place, the strands slide over the wood to end up intertwining with the others. Paths that come together, flows that converge, streams that merge. The threads are braided, making a singular patchwork.

“I want to do that too.”

Ruby says, not satisfied at all and breaking the silence. She's sitting next to Yang, with her own reel of red thread in her hands. Her strands are a mess and tangled between her fingers. Yet she looks at Grandma Calavera and at her sister with a bored expression.

“You're still too young, Ruby,” Grandma replies. “You're not ready.”

The tapping of the iron weights sounds non-stop in the workroom, where the three of them are doing their task in silence. Grandma stops to talk to Ruby, but Yang keeps going. Yellow, yellow, purple. Squeeze. Purple, yellow, purple. Squeeze.

“You have to listen to the voice of the strings,” Grandma continues. “If you braid for a long time, sooner or later emotions will start to flow between you and the cords.”

Ruby is utterly confused. Truth is, Yang’s been doing braids longer than Ruby and she still doesn’t understand that thing about emotions and cords either. But Grandma is so invested in braiding that Yang just goes along with her without asking much.

“What?” Ruby complains again. “But strings can't speak.”

“She wants you to focus,” Yang helps her as she goes on with her own threads. Ruby nods, still not satisfied, and tries to untangle her fingers again.

“When we do the braiding...” Making deaf ears to Ruby's complaints, Grandma starts her monologue.

With the antique clothes of the sanctuaries on, the three of them are making the braids that they’ll use in the ritual of the God of Creation that's held once a year and that takes place tonight. The traditional braiding technique has been passed down through generations in Patch and consists on intertwining fine threads one by one to form a string. The final result is an interweaving of exquisite color and beauty. To do this you need to master the technique, so Grandma takes care of Ruby's part while she braids the threads around the iron weights. Threads that, by the way, are still entangled around her fingers. Yang considers stopping and helping her, but if Grandma finds out she'll scold both of them, so she leaves Ruby to fix it on her own.

“As I was saying, when we do the braids, we have to remember that Patch's history is engraved on our strings,” Grandma goes on. “To begin with, this kind of thing should have been taught to you at school. Listen up. The story goes back two hundred years...”

 _It begins_ , Yang can't help but think with half a smile. Grandma, an expert like no one else, once again begins the history lesson Yang’s heard so many times since she was a child. With the same solemn voice as every year, Grandma tells the story of what once happened in the small town of Patch.

“The mayor of Patch at the time was a good, wise man named Ozpin,” she says. “He was loved by everyone, and people who lived here were very happy. One day, a female traveler came to the village as a newcomer and, for reasons nobody knows, got into an enormous fight with Ozpin. No one remembers how it happened, but that conflict caused a fire that spread throughout almost the entire island. The whole area was reduced to ashes. The sanctuary of the God of Creation, where we are now, also burned. And with it, all the writings where the meaning of the traditions were written. After that night, no one saw Ozpin or that lady ever again.”

“What was her name?” Ruby asks with curiosity, a gloomy look hovering over her eyes.

“Salem,” Yang says with a solemn voice. Grandma looks at her sideways. “That's why that incident is called ‘The Great Fire of Salem’.”

Though Yang’s heard the story hundreds of times, each time Grandma tells it she gets a chill down her spine, an inexplicable pressure in her chest. Despite the fact that there aren't any photographs of the incident, since at that time there were no cameras, in Yang’s mind spread images of the town burning in flames, of Salem's icy gaze. Grandma nods, satisfied with her answer.

“Huh? Did they name the fire after her?” Ruby replies with an upset expression. Then, she mutters something like ‘poor Ozpin, a traveler comes from nowhere and burns half his village...’.

“As a result,” Grandma continues. “The meaning of the braiding design and our dance was lost with the fire. What remained were only the forms. Even if words are lost, tradition must be preserved. After all, the meaning sculpted in it will one day resurface.”

Outside, the crickets sing a soft melody they give to the night. Grandma's narrative has a very particular rhythm, as if it was a song. Yang imagines one day the God of Creation coming down to the world of mortals and thanking them for still doing the ritual for him every year. As she does the braiding, Yang repeats to herself Grandma’s words. ‘ _The meaning sculpted in the form will one day resurface’._

_And that's the important task..._

“And that's the important task of the God of Creation's sanctuary. Nevertheless...” Grandma's gentle gaze is darkened by sadness. “Nevertheless, that stupid Raven... not only did she give up her duties to the sanctuary and leave home, but she also got into politics...”

She says, sighing. The thought of Raven this morning strikes Yang like a cold dagger. Her flashing eyes scanning the people around her until they reached Yang, trapping her with invisible claws, astounding her. She can still feel the frustration from that moment, knowing that Raven still has that kind of power over her. But she’s going to take it away from her. Yang plans to leave far, far away from here, where her mother’s bad decisions won't reach her. And to think that everything could've been different if she had stayed...

Like sympathizing with Grandma, Yang too sighs weakly. Her dream of living in Atlas someday flickers, like a star afraid to fade away. She knows she wants to leave, that’s the only thing she’s sure of, but still… Leaving Patch would also mean leaving Ruby, Grandma and her friends behind, if she can’t make them to follow her. She tries every day to not be like Raven, but if Yang also goes and abandon the people who love her like her mother did, then what good is she?

Watching the threads that fall, turn, intertwine and grip tightly, her head spins with them. Paths that unite, streams that converge. Yang feels like one of these strings – moved at will, intertwined with the others and unable to break freely. She’s trapped here, making a patchwork together with many other strings that share her destiny.

Yang no longer knows if she likes Patch or not, the village that has helped her grow and about which she complain every single day. She doesn’t know if she wants to go far away, to Atlas to live new experiences, or to stay forever here in Patch with her family and friends, where every day is exactly the same. Yang doesn’t know what she wants to do. She doesn’t know what she _should_ do.

Once finished, Yang takes her brightly colored braid out of the loom with a sad clatter.

 

* * *

 

As she hears the sound of the traditional flute in the sanctuary at night, she imagines what an urbanite would think if they saw this scene. Yang’s sure they'd think it's a setting taken from a horror movie, one of those where strange events happen around an unknown town, like a brutal murder or a strange family incident. And here she’s been for a while now, dancing in the dress of a priestess of Creation with her mood down and wishing that someone, Ozpin or the very God of Creation, would soon take her out of her misery.

The sharp, sluggish sound of the flute mixes in the night with the echo of a small drum that someone’s playing. Or rather, that someone played at some point, because the music that plays comes from loudspeakers that they have on the sides of the stage. Next to these, two large torches are oddly brightening the scene. The noise of the crackling fire joins the sounds that surround them. Yang’s body moves rhythmically, following these sounds with rehearsed precision. She’s doing her best to blank her mind and avoid letting one of the many intrusive thoughts that fly over her mind take over her concentration. Trying, unsuccessfully.

Each year, the main roles of the God of Creation Festival of the sanctuary unfortunately fall on her sister Ruby and herself. With the showy priestess dresses, lips colored with intense crimson and the twinkling decorations on their heads, they stand on the traditional dance's stage and, facing the audience, they perform the dance that Grandma Calavera had taught them years ago. Though its meaning was lost in Salem's fire, the dance has to be performed by two people at the same time while they hold some kind of golden jingle bells with hanging colorful strings, making them ring with a rumble, and spinning by waving the strings in the air. Yang would really like to know the meaning behind all this, from the outside it's absurd. But she continues to dance.

As Yang dances, she hears the whispers of people watching the ritual.

“Is that Yang? She's so grown up!”

“Both of them are as beautiful as their mother was.”

“Didn't they have different mothers? Yang's mother is...”

“Hush, lower your voice. You're right, I was talking about Summer.”

“Yes, it's a shame what happened to them.”

“Well, yes. But Yang’s also very pretty.”

“Prettier than her mothe-“

“Hush, I said!”

Yang continues the dance, impassive, containing a sigh. Each year she hears conversations like this, but she never gets used to them. She glances sidelong at Ruby, but she seems to be focused on dancing and hasn't heard anything. That relieves Yang. While she’s used to hearing comparisons and whispers behind their backs, she doesn’t want any of that to reach Ruby. She should have a happy life, out of the drama of the family and the comments that everyone makes now and then. After all, they do have something to talk about. Their family is complicated, even more so since Summer and their father aren't here. Summer used to do the dance every year, so around this time she's a little more present and they all miss her a little bit more. For Yang, there's no day that she doesn’t miss her, really.

During the last turn, Yang thought she saw Pyrrha and Jaune from the corner of her eye, and that makes her feel even more depressed. _I told them not to come! I'll curse them with my superpowers as a priestess of Creation, and torment them with puns for the rest of their lives!_ Actually, it's not that Yang doesn’t want them to see the dance. Yes, okay, she’s a little embarrassed, but she’s been doing this since she was a little girl so she’s used to it by now. It's not the dance that worries Yang, but the other thing she has to do in the ritual. What really makes her wonder what this means and who came up with it. The older Yang gets, the more embarrassed it makes her. It's something that comes after the dance, and that she has to absolutely do. She’s already begged Grandma many times to skip that part of the ritual, but she always scolds Yang and tells her that it's part of the tradition, so it should be respected. Yang has to do it out of obligation, and the idea fills her stomach with anxiety and unease.

_Ah...! Shit...! I don't want to...!_

But while she’s complaining, her body moves until Yang finally finishes the dance.

 

* * *

 

Yang chews. Chews and chews.

And again.

And again, and again, and again.

She chews rice grains over and over, trying with all her soul to blank her mind. Yang closes her eyes tightly to block the taste, smell and color of the rice... and chews. Next to her, Ruby does the same. With a gentle expression and her eyes closed, Yang couldn't tell if she loathes this part of the ritual as much as she does. She also tries her best to keep an indifferent face and a calm expression. And she chews.

In front of them, who’re sitting on the floor with their backs firmly straight on their heels, two old men who collaborate every year with the preparations of the ritual have placed two small red boxes in old wooden trays. And, of course, they have their audience in front of them – men and women, old and young, who watch their every movement since they started dancing before. Now, for some reason, they're more interested.

Yang chews, she chews, and chews again.

Once. And again. The rice rolls around in her mouth until the taste disappears and she feels like she’s chewing a big ball of nothing. That doesn't make it any less unpleasant. Yang closes her eyes to ignore the pairs of irises that are fixed on her. _Out of sight, out of mind, right?_ Yang thinks of Summer in front of an audience like this, chewing rice. For some reason, thinking that Summer used to do this comforts her. It makes her think that she can do this too, that she can do anything. Yang vaguely remembers coming to see her as a child, but they're fuzzy memories. At least she doesn’t have to put up with Raven watching her chew rice too, that also motivates her. Rice that, by the way, can't stay in her mouth forever.

Finally, Yang gives up and reaches the little box in front of her. She places it in front of her mouth and, at the very least, she lets herself cover her mouth with the sleeve of her priestess of Creation’s dress.

Yang frowns her lips and spits out the rice that she’s been chewing until now inside the little box. When mixed with saliva, it's turned into a whitish and slimy fluid. There's a little shock in the audience, even though some come to see the ritual every year. Yang remembers that Jaune and Pyrrha are watching the scene as well, and the embarrassment overwhelms her. _Aaaah..._ She cries on the inside. _I beg you, don't look at me!_

This is called the ‘Elixir of the Gods’.

It's Remnant's oldest type of drink. The idea is that by chewing the rice, mixing it with the saliva and letting it rest until it ferments, it becomes alcohol. It's made as an offering to the gods. Most people do it for the God of Creation, but some will dedicate the ritual to the God of Destruction, you never know. In the past, the elixir was done in several regions, but Yang doubts that with the arrival of the twenty-first century other sanctuaries of the Gods have continued with this ritual nowadays. It's just that, come on, making such a scene with the priestess dresses is crazy. Yang really doubts that it'll continue to exist in places other than a town in the last corner of the world like Patch. _Can somebody tell me who gets anything positive out of this?_ The worst thing is that people used to drink this elixir like a regular drink. The idea makes Yang feel sick.

But while her internal monologue continues, her hand grabs another handful of rice with a rehearsed motion and puts it in her mouth. And she chews again. Still with an unconcerned expression, Ruby does the same. They have to continue this torture until the little box is filled with that sticky liquid. Yang spits out again – _"Bleh..."_ – a new batch of pasty rice and saliva. She cries internally again.

Suddenly Yang hears some voices that she recognizes. A whirlwind of anxiety and nausea hovers over her. She starts to fear the worst. Slowly, she looks up.

What Yang sees makes her want to blow up the whole sanctuary and even start a Salem's fire part two. As she feared, not far away are the three high school classmates that claim to be the 'cool' group of the class – Cardin and his bunch of _idiots_. They get closer until they're practically in the front row, as if watching Yang from a distance wasn't good enough. They probably want her to know they're here. _Jerks_. They look at her with mocking expressions without taking their eyes off her, and Yang knows that the next time they see each other they're not going to leave her alone as easily as this morning. A flame of anger ignites within her, but she remembers Grandma's words – ‘You don't have to respond to violence with more violence, but with intelligence’. Yang has to be smarter than they are. After all, she’s going to live in Atlas and they'll probably stay here as farmers until they die. Still, the unease she feels now doesn't go away.

Though at that distance it should be physically impossible for Yang to hear them, she gets the feeling that she hears loud and clear what they say – “Wow, I wouldn't be able to do it!", "It's disgusting", "What a nerve to do that in front of so many people... I'm freaked out", and things like that, Yang’s sure. _Morons_. She feels the huge need to get off the stage and tell them a few things, but she keeps her place. Instead, she carefully lowers the box that's already practically full. She can't face them right now, the best she can do is finish this endless ritual and go home. _How did you handle idiots like these, Summer?_

Yang places the little box on the tray and covers it with a white cloth they've placed for them. She wraps it several times with one of the braided cords they made before, knotting it until it is tightly closed.

She looks at the sky, fleeing for a second from the overwhelming reality of the sanctuary. Beyond where the torch lights illuminate, a peaceful night sky extends as far as Yang’s eyes can see. It's sprinkled with gleaming white dots that flicker. Some so small that they go almost unnoticed. Some so big that their light attracts her gaze like an immense magnet. Big and small, the dots form brilliant constellations, like ancient works of art, always far from their reach. Yang remembers happy nights with Summer, when she would show her the names of those she knew, holding Yang in her lap on the porch of the sanctuary. She told her that if she ever left, she would go and live in one of those constellations, the one Yang liked best. "So you can find me whenever you need me", she had said, caressing Yang’s head with a warm gesture, but her words sounded hollow in the night. Yang remembers the sadness in her eyes, which she didn't understand at the time, carved against a night sky with Cassiopeia and Cepheus shining in the distance. Yang imagines herself stretching out her hand and going far, so far that she reaches for the stars that shine mockingly beyond the sanctuary. So far that she gets to Summer’s warm embrace again. For an instant that lasts a millisecond, yearning bathes her heart.

Yang looks down at the little box that’s in front of her. She feels Ruby's gaze beside her. ‘Are we done?’ she seems to ask, and Yang gets up as a response.

The thought reaches her mind with undeniable strength. When she graduates, she’ll leave this town behind and go far, far away.

As far as Atlas, the city of stars.

 

* * *

 

“Come on, cheer up, Yang!” Ruby gives her sister a playful nudge. “Who cares if your high school classmates have seen you? “

“How nice and how easy it has to be living as carefree as you, Rubes,” Yang tells her, half-joking and half-serious, sighing theatrically.

Now wearing their normal clothes – though for Ruby normal is wearing a red cloak everywhere, which is completely valid –, Ruby and Yang have just come out of the sanctuary's front door. After the ritual, as a closure, they had to attend the banquet in honor of all the elders of the neighborhood who helped them with the preparations for the festival. Most of the people who live in Patch are elderly, so events like this one are full of seniors. Even more so if it's a religious event. _We're a village of old farmers_ , Yang laments internally.

Grandma Calavera was the hostess while Ruby and Yang served the drinks and started conversations with them as they could. The weather, the crops, the village. Truth is, Yang didn’t know what else she could talk to them about. The great majority of the people that were there were the aged people Yang only sees once a year, so it's been really boring. And if doing the ritual wasn't enough, Grandma has made them stay at it too and now Yang’s twice as tired.

They’d been serving for a while. More than an hour after the ritual ended, they were still in there. Poor Ruby had mentioned that she wanted to sleep about fifteen times. Yang too was exhausted when they were finally given the green light to leave, because of that ‘children have to go home early’ thing. For once in her life, Yang’s glad someone still considers her a child. But the adults, including Grandma, continue the celebration in the sanctuary office. It's a good thing they’re already going home. Even if Yang complains that it's boring, she understands that it's important to thank those who helped them prepare for the festival.

“Hey, Ruby,” Yang asks with a playful look. “Could you tell me the average age of the people in that room?”

They continue walking the path that goes through the sanctuary grounds in complete darkness, surrounded by the refreshing song of insects and the quiet of nature. When Yang was little, she used to be afraid of this walk because there are no lanterns to light it, but now she likes it that way – without lights that distract, the Moon looks huge and gorgeous.

“Well, no idea,” at this point Ruby isn't surprised by Yang’s strange questions. She stops to think about it for a moment. “About sixty years old?”

“I've been calculating it in the kitchen. The average is seventy eight years old!” Yang exclaims, dramatically gesturing. “Seventy eight!”

“Were they all that old?!” Ruby joins her sister’s melodrama.

“And now that we're gone, the average age of the hall is ninety-one! They're about to turn one hundred years old, in the last stage of life, touching the doors of the afterlife!” Yang says in an even more theatrical tone. “I wouldn't be surprised if a courier from the Other World arrived to pick them up right now!”

“Don't say that, Yang!” Ruby punches Yang weakly on the shoulder. She laughs. “Poor things.”

“That's why we must hurry and flee from this town as soon as possible, Ruby!” Yang says. “Before it happens!”

“Before _what_ happens?” Ruby tilts her head.

“Before the courier from the Other World comes for us too,” Yang looks at her with wide eyes. “For living in a village of old farmers!”

Ruby giggles, and Yang laughs with her too. She looks at her sideways, and a warm feeling spreads through her body. Even though she's only two years younger than Yang, most of the time she treats Ruby like a child. Yang knows it's because for a long time Grandma and her have been the only adult figures Ruby’s had in her life, and that has also led Yang to mature faster – so she could take care of her. But, in a way Yang also treats her like a little girl because she’s afraid that Ruby will grow up and no longer need her, just like Yang needs her. Though more and more every day she discover things in Ruby that make her see how much she's growing, and that makes Yang proud and sad in equal parts. She knows that someday Ruby will be independent, but for now Yang prays to the God of Creation to let her take care of her a little bit longer.

“Ruby,” Yang hears the soft sound of her own voice before she processes what she’s saying, but she doesn’t care. She lets the honesty bathe her words. “I love you, very much.”

“What's this all of a sudden?” Ruby gives her a confused look, Yang shrug her shoulders. Yet her face softens and she gives her sister a friendly nudge. “I love you too, Yang.”

Yang stirs her hair and Ruby groans, combing it with her fingers. A comfortable silence settles between the two of them for a few minutes as they walk. Ruby doesn't take long to break it, with a slightly worried tone.

“Yang, are you serious about leaving Patch?”

“Yes,” Yang says, keeping a carefree expression on her face. She gives her a confident look. “But you and Grandma can come with me. Jaune and Pyrrha are coming too. You could go to one of those posh schools in Atlas, and we could live in one of those big houses with pools. Can you imagine?”

“Me? In a posh uniform? Without my cloak” Ruby's disgusted face makes Yang laugh again. “Besides, how're you going to get the money?”

“That's also true,” Yang nods, remembering Jaune's words. “But we still have time to figure that kind of stuff out.”

She looks up. The starry sky, devoid of the worries that haunt the mortal world, shines almost transcendentally. A comforting silence surrounds them and Yang can only hear the singing of the crickets.

“I got it!” Suddenly Ruby shouts as they walk down the stone steps of the sanctuary. From the way she says it and her tone of satisfaction, she reminds Yang of when they finished making cookies with Summer and she told them that they could try them now. “What you have to do, Yang, is prepare a lot of the Elixir of the Gods, and use the money to go to Atlas!”

For a moment, Yang’s speechless. She imagines people drinking that sticky whitish fluid and she gets nauseous.

“Girl, that's disgusting!”

“And then you could add photos and videos of the making of!” Ruby continues, excited by her brilliant idea. “The brand name could be The Elixir of the Priestess! Or something like that. What do you say!?”

Worrying a bit about Ruby's future – is it normal that she has this perception of the world!? – , Yang realizes that, in her own way, she’s caring about her. And that reaches her heart. Maybe Ruby’s also thrilled about living in Atlas. She could think of something more practical, though. But well, it's her way of helping, Yang supposes. She looks at her from the corner of her eye and finds her silver eyes flashing.

 _Damn, she's so cute..._ Well, that's it, they’ll have to think about doing business with the Elixir of the Gods... But, now that Yang think about it, can you go around selling alcohol on your own? Not to mention the repulsion she feels when she thinks of someone drinking that. It's probably not even healthy for anybody.

“Tell me, Yang, what do you think of the idea?”

“Well...” Yang rubs her neck, trying to find a good answer. “We'll probably need to come up with something else.”

Yang’s definitely not selling the Elixir – _gross_ – , but they’ll find another way to earn money so they can leave. She looks at the sky and imagines for a second that the shimmering stars are sparkling Atlas lights. Then she starts running down the stairs to the huge red arch that stands proud at the entrance of the sanctuary. From here, they can see the whole village below, the shape of the houses and the small lights that each one of them belongs to a person. They look so tiny; their problems are also so small. Yang feels her heart on the verge of exploding. Too much has happened today. A mixture composed of endless emotions – expectations, doubts and worries – overwhelms her. She fills up her lungs with the cool night air and uses it to channel out all the tightness she feels swirling in her chest.

“I've had enough of this town! I've had enough of my life!” Yang shouts, her mind blank and her heart overflowing. “Please, in the next life I want to be reborn as a beautiful girl from Atlas!”

_Atlas… Atlas… Las… As…_

Yang’s prayer echoes through the mountains for a while until it fades completely, as if Lake Patch, down below, had swallowed it. When she notices how absurd it is that she’s unconsciously shouting what her chest’s been carrying the whole day, Yang’s mind starts to cool down along with the sweat on her body. She notices some tears on the corner of her eyes.

_But… Still…_

_Gods, if you truly exist…_

_I beg of you…_

_In another life…_

_A girl from Atlas…_


	5. I have... Cat ears!?

The high-pitched sound of an alarm that she doesn’t recognize resounds in the room – It’s the first thing she hears when she wakes up.

Half asleep, everything her senses pick up is the annoying ringing of the alarm and how soft the pillow feels under her face. She hugs it, falling for a second back to the peace of sleep. But the alarm keeps ringing, rumbling in her ears until she can't take it anymore. She’s sleep-dead. Of course, yesterday with the ritual and the celebration, Yang came home later than usual; and on top of that, she had to make dinner for Ruby. She wants to keep sleeping, but the phone alarm keeps bothering her. Still with her eyes closed, Yang pulls out her hand from the warm sheets and reaches for it.

_Huh?_

She stretches out her hand to the nightstand next to her bed, but she can't find anything but air. Yang keeps on moving it, looking for the table, but her hand doesn't touch anything. _How strange_. But it's not enough to make her open her eyes. Yang reaches out a little more, maybe it's further away than she thought. Maybe if she stretches out enough –

“Ouch!”

With a thud, her body hits the cold floor on her back. Apparently, she just fell out of bed. Her right shoulder resents the fall. That hurts. _How stupid you have to be to wake up like that?_ Yang sits down, finally opening her eyes.

_What...?_

A room she doesn’t recognize surrounds her. Yang opens her eyes wide, confused. _Where am I...?_ Last night she doesn’t remember staying at any friend's house. Besides, Pyrrha and Jaune’s places don’t look like this. The bed she just fell from is on her left, big and fluffy, against the wall. On her right there's a dark, comfortable looking chair next to a very messy study table, with a table lamp, an empty mug, several books, pencils and many, many drawings. There are also two bookcases in the room overflowing with books that she doesn’t recognize. There's another small table next to the larger bookcase, also full of books. On it hangs a calendar that looks like it's just been bought, and several post-its with letters scribbled in a hurry. Near the ceiling, above the room door, a huge air conditioner shines, stunning. Yang stares at it amazed, they don't have any of those at home. On the wall in front of her there's a uniform hanging, but if Yang’s ever seen it she doesn’t recall it either. And next to it, hung on the wall are many drawings, big and small, precise and clearly drawn with care. There's a bridge, a chubby looking, low building, a skyscraper, what looks like a cafeteria on the inside, a pavilion...

_What is this place?_

“Where...?”

Yang starts to speak, but she shuts up right away. The voice that sounded wasn't hers. Unconsciously, she touches her throat as if that were going to give her any clue as to why her voice sounds different. Yang doesn’t know why, but somehow she also notices that her throat feels weird.

“What's going on...?”

She tries again, and to her horror, she finds that her voice does sound different. Slightly deeper, more serious than her characteristic playful and carefree voice. _What's happening...?_ Then Yang looks down. Instead of her usual wild blonde mane, she finds soft waves of dark hair spreading through the nightgown. She touches the hair, incredibly soft to the touch, and moves it away. Then Yang sees it.

_... They are smaller._

The nightgown, which doesn't ring a bell for her either, rests up to her waist, purple and black in soft satin, letting her see that the usual volume of Yang’s chest has been reduced. She focuses her gaze more intensely, maybe she’s just not seeing well, but it's true that they look smaller. That doesn't make any sense, they can't get smaller overnight. It has to be her imagination. Yang slowly raises her hands off the floor and gently places them on her breasts. A chill, like an electrical impulse, spreads all over her body. Yang touches them, waiting for the usual roundness, but she discovers that they are indeed smaller. They fit in her hands, when they used to be bigger than them. Still... For some reason, her breasts are now softer to the touch, like more delicate. Yang feels like she’s touching another girl's chest. The thought unleashes butterflies in her stomach and she blushes unintentionally. Yang moves her hands away from her chest, overwhelmed.

Something on her head twitches, and Yang flinches. Now that she pays her attention, she notices something strange at the top of her head, and suddenly its presence is so strong that it completely eclipses the strange fact that she’s lost volume on her breasts.

_What is this...?_

Little by little, Yang raises her hands in its direction. She feel as if she has something there, another part of her body that she didn't know existed until now, but that stretches naturally from her head. She brings her hand closer, and as if by an instinct she couldn't quite explain, she feels her hair bristling there. Yang stretches out her hands until she touches it, and she discovers two... – appendices? – two big things on her head, extremely soft to the touch. Yang caresses them with caution, and a wave of warm feeling, almost like pleasure, spreads through her body. She keeps caressing them, amazed at how real they feel and how each little touch causes a great reaction in them. Upright, with the base somehow attached to her head and the top ending almost pointy – and considering that, for some reason, Yang’s hearing has gotten quite better; she hears the birds beyond the window, the noises of distant cars and even the conversation of two workers somewhere – This can only mean... By its location in relation to her body, it can only be...

_I have..._

Yang touches them again, making sure. They're still there, soft and firm. Her heart can't contain it anymore and explodes.

_I have... Cat ears!?_

Yang thinks she’s going to faint.

 

* * *

 

_Who is this girl?_

Yang looks dumbfounded at the face of the stranger who looks back at her in the mirror, in a bathroom that she doesn’t remember ever stepping on either. Her hair, with bangs that reach her eyebrows, frames a slender and delicate face. Waves of dark hair fall gracefully down her shoulders with a stylish haircut. It gives the sensation of wanting to have an approximate proportion of 60% elegant look and 40% natural. The shape of her eyebrows, thin and dark, gives off a slight softness. But her eyes, big and sharp, golden but almost as yellow as the newly melted gold, reveal an aura of mystery. Her irises sparkle with the light that slips through the window; an enigmatic, almost dangerous glow.

Lower down, lips well hydrated and a soft neck with skin slightly darker than Yang’s. For some reason she doesn’t know, in one of her smooth, thin cheeks there's a big Band-Aid, the kind you wear when you get a mildly bad wound. Yang tries to touch it softly, but then she feels a sharp pain spreading from that point to the rest of her face.

 _...How strange_. It hurts, but she’s not waking up. She assumed that when she’s dreaming, if she pinches or hurts herself, she usually wakes up. And her throat is dry, too. Yang arches her back to get close to the tap and she makes a cup with her hands to drink the water. It's warm and smells like chlorine from swimming pools water. Yang doesn’t like it.

She looks again at the reflection that the mirror returns. The cat ears rest, straight and proud, at the top of her head. Yang plays with them, moving them with her hands. If she focuses enough, maybe she can move them at will –

“Blake, are you awake, honey?”

Yang shrieks a little without realizing it. Her heart almost bursts out of her chest. It seems there's someone else in the house, it's the voice of a woman in the distance. Suddenly her stomach swells with nerves, should she go out? Yang stands frozen, still in the middle of the bathroom, heart pounding wild. _Wait, did she say 'Blake'?_ Before Yang can think what to do, the voice talks again.

“Breakfast is ready,” the woman says. “It's a little late, your father's already left.”

Still fearful, Yang ventures out of the bathroom and into the hallway towards the voice. From her affectionate tone, Yang thinks she's a family member of this girl, maybe her mother. Taking small steps without making much noise, she reaches the end of the corridor – a large room that seems to be the dining room. A middle-aged woman dressed in elegant clothes stares at Yang for a moment as she enters, then smiles at her. Yang notices that she's placing some dishes with food on the table, and when Yang sees them, her stomach roars hungry. The woman grins again, it's a nice smile.

“Thank you,” Yang says hesitantly, sitting at the table in front of the dishes the woman has prepared for this ‘Blake’ girl. _I'm still not used to this voice_ , Yang thinks to herself.

“I'm leaving now, sweetie,” she says, looking at her phone and typing something on the screen. Then she looks up and gazes at Yang with a sweet expression. “Eat your breakfast, okay?”

Yang stares at her. She's a slender woman, though a little shorter than Yang, wearing elegant, dark clothes. Her hair looks a lot like the girl in the mirror, but this woman wears it shorter, brushing her shoulders. At the top of her head there are also two ears like the ones Yang has now, but this woman’s are bigger and darker. Her eyes also resemble Yang’s – well, Blake’s, the girl in her dream –, golden and wild, but they don't have that touch of mystery, they're rather tired. Even so, the softness in her eyes when she looks at Yang is undeniable. Yes, she definitely has to be her mother.

“Ah. Sure,” Yang answers, not knowing what to say.

“And even if you're late,” she says, walking up to Yang and giving her a quick little kiss on the head. Yang stays still. “Please, go to school.”

That said, the woman puts on a coat, takes the keys from the table, opens the door, goes outside and closes gently. And Yang’s still frozen, not understanding what's going on and with her stomach still protesting. _What a strange dream..._ But first things first. She gets the fork and takes a good bite out of the food. Delicious.

As she eats breakfast, Yang looks around again. At the table, the mother has placed several dishes with food, soup, cutlery, a cup with a cat design – _really?_ – and a thermos that's still warm. The room is large and seems to include the living room and the kitchen at the same time, linked by a space where there would have been a door at some point. Next to the table is a wooden cabinet with a plasma TV, a cable telephone and more books. On the walls of the dining room there are several photographs and designs of bridges, skyscrapers and other architectural works. Scattered on the floor are countless magazines, paper envelopes and cardboard boxes that make Yang feel better about the slight mess in her room. If she compares it to one of their rooms in the sanctuary, all so neat and tidy – though that's thanks to Grandma –, it seems as if she’s entered a place with no rules.

Yang finishes her breakfast when she can't get anything else into her stomach and decides to look around the house, now that apparently there's nobody around. There's the dining room that's connected to the kitchen, the corridor and then there are four rooms – the room where Yang woke up, the bathroom, the parents' bedroom and a study room. She guesses this girl is an only child, or at least if she has siblings they don't live here. Yang thinks about what a life without Ruby would be like, and she feel sad for a moment. She keeps exploring though. When Yang looks at the arrangement of the rooms, she realizes that she’s in an apartment. She doesn’t understand where this dream came from, but she has to admit that, to be her, the level of realism is a blast. Yang feels proud of herself. She didn't know she had so much imagination. Perhaps in the future she could consider career opportunities related to the world of art and everything.

Then she hears a sound coming from her bedroom, the ring that marks a message arriving sounds all over the hallway. Yang panics, swallows hard and rushes back to the bedroom. She finds the phone on the floor next to the sheets – they probably fell with Yang out of bed –, and the screen lights up with a message.

 

**I can't believe you fell asleep. Wake up, you're late! Weiss.**

_Huh? What does this mean? Who is Weiss!?_

Yang leaves the phone in bed, not daring to answer. _What could I say anyway? I don't know who she is!_ But she seems to mean Yang’s late for class. Now that she says so, this girl's mother also insisted that Yang goes, even if she was late. _I see, so the goal of the dream for now is to get to the high school building_. That's fine. Yang looks again at the room and notices that, by the window, the uniform she saw before is still hanging. She stands up, grabs it and heads to the bathroom.

This may be a dream, and technically it's still Yang but in the body of a girl who's not her, but this is still, well, another girl's body – While Yang changes, she does her best to not look at her figure in the mirror. And, above all, she tries to not remember that she’s touched her breasts before. Yang blushes again and notices how her ears bend down. This is going to be more difficult than she originally thought.

With her uniform and shoes on, and the bag she found in the room, Yang opens the apartment door and closes it behind her. _Maybe when I leave the house the dream will end and I'll wake up in my bed_ , she also thinks sadly, since for now the dream is fascinating. But that's not what happens when she looks up.

As Yang gazes upwards, the landscape in front of her takes her breath away.

Yang finds herself in the outside hallway of a rather high floor. In front of her, an immense natural park covers with its green mantle a great part of the surroundings, almost everything she can see. The sky, a perfect uniform cerulean blue and without a single cloud, envelops everything. And where the blue of the sky and the green of the park kiss, there's a cluster of buildings of different sizes and shapes, as if they were a well-organized row of origami figures, each more complex and magnificent than the last. Every single one of them is full of windows sculpted to the detail, small meticulous and precise stitches. Some reflect the gleaming sky, others the intense greenery of the trees and others shine with the tinkling of the rays they catch from the sun. In the distance, Yang can see even more constructions – the red tip of a tower that rises defiantly, a golden and rounded building that radiates confidence, another deeply black one that shines as if it were carved in obsidian, etc. All of them are famous, Yang’s sure, she remembers having heard about them. Next to the buildings, tiny cars that look like toys perfectly aligned move through the city at breathtaking speeds. Tiny people, like ants, rush back and forth in this endless landscape.

 _It's so cool_ , much more beautiful than Yang would've ever imagined on her own from pictures they see on TV, in movies, or what books say. But here it is – Remnant's biggest city. Full of excitement, with her heart beating in ecstasy, she only manages to whisper a word that floats in the air carrying all the enthusiasm that now overflows in her chest and that she can barely control.

“Atlas…!”

The world around her is shining, shining so brightly that, as if Yang was looking at the sun, she can't help narrowing her eyes as she takes a deep breath in the air of the metropolis. Hopping with her eyes from one point to another, from one building to another, Yang’s sure it's the most wonderful dream she’s ever had. _I never want to wake up_ , Yang thinks to herself, soaking up every detail of the beautiful city that proudly stretches out in front of and all around her.

 _I should get to class_ , she also thinks with the thrill of stepping into the vibrant city flowing all over her body like adrenaline. Yang takes the phone out of the bag and finds the Google Maps App. She types in the search bar the name that's written on the uniform Yang’s wearing, hoping it's enough, and smiles when she sees the screen light up with the fastest route. _All set then, let's go!_

Yang leaves the apartment behind and arrives at a street that's huge, it's probably an avenue. As far as she can tell, all she sees are hundreds of people walking in every direction, with all sorts of looks, and constantly filling her field of vision. Yang has never seen so many people together, not even when they celebrate the festival in Patch. Her heart beats quick, stunned, taking in every detail she gets from her surroundings. Every smell, every scene, every new thing that she sees, every emotion that she feels, Yang tries to engrave everything on fire in her mind. She looks up at the vast, never ending buildings that proudly stretch out into the sky, with large windows that mirror the brightness of the sun. The whole city shines; wherever Yang looks, she finds a thousand things that fascinate her. Several birds fly in formation through the blue sky dotted with choppy clouds. For once, Yang doesn’t think about what it would be like to fly free, since her head is so full of wonder that nothing else fits.

Yang sees several bridges full of cars coming and going at the speed of light, crossing the vertiginous roads with enviable skill. Driving such fancy cars in such a breathtaking city must be a great feeling. Hundreds of trains flow harmoniously and strictly on the tracks, intertwining and converging, arriving and departing full of passengers in a matter of seconds, with astonishing precision. She imagines herself being one of those travelers, taking the train to unknown destinations, no ties of any kind. Some of the huge buildings have large screens, as big as anything she’s ever seen before. Yang stares at them, mouth open. _If only Pyrrha and Jaune were here and saw all this...!_ The screens play music videos with vivid colors and flashy scenes, and Yang can't look away. "Weekly Music Ranking Top 10", it says. Yang could spend the whole morning here. Also, around her there are a lot of trendy shops that she’d love to get into, so original that she couldn't have imagined they existed. _There are cafes for petting cats! Atlas is the best city in the world!_

As if on a cloud, Yang explores every corner of the huge city she’s dreamed of so much. Thanks to a dream, it's now right at her fingertips.

 

* * *

 

“Hey! Where did you buy this?”

“In Atlas Emporium, after coming back from dance class...”

“I'm planning on going to their next concert...”

“Hey, do you feel like skipping after-school activities to go to the movies today?”

“The agency executive will be coming to tonight's multiple date...”

_But... But what are these conversations? Do these kids really study in high school?_

Yang’s hiding behind the half-opened class door while she decides when it's the best time to come in. Truth is, listening to the posh conversations they're having, Yang feels completely out of place. She’s a country girl from a village in the middle of nowhere where the closest thing they have to a cafeteria is a bus stop, how is she going to fit into the metropolis overnight? Yang regrets internally coming here, she should've stayed wandering around the city and exploring every corner. But this girl's mother and that Weiss girl insisted that she came. _How_ _lame_. Though, if she’s honest with herself, all of this thrills Yang very much. Even getting lost has been fun. Yes, with the phone's GPS she managed to get here, but there are so many cool things in Atlas that Yang couldn't help but wander off the road a couple of times. She’s arrived, and that's what matters, isn't it? Besides, it hasn't been that difficult to find this place, it's huge. In fact, just as she was entering the building, the bell that signals the beginning of the break rang. Yang looks at the class again, still not ready to enter and she looks at the other students – Some girls are applying lotion to their hands, a whole bag of beauty products scattered on the table; others are eating a McDonald's that they've ordered; others have all sorts of bags on the tables of brands that Yang’s only seen advertised on TV. _They're supposed to be my age, aren't they?_ Yang thinks to herself, lamenting internally as she compares her life to theirs.

_What weird students... And what a school building!_

Entire walls made of glass and cement, steel doors painted in various colors, large rooms of flawless white, huge windows that let in all the clarity from outside, several floors that can be seen from below with amplitude, lengthy corridors with many classes... _Am I sure I'm not in the Universal Expo pavilion?_ Yang thinks to herself. This place is excessively elegant, nothing to do with the pitiful high school of Patch on top of a plateau. The best thing about it is the view of the lake, so...

Along the way while Yang was getting here she peeked in the bag she picked up before she left the house and found some interesting things. The main one has been the wallet, where there's the student card with the name and the photo of this girl. Her name is Blake Belladonna, and apparently she's Yang’s age and lives in this world, so different and opposite to hers. In the photo she appears with a confident expression, keeping the air of mystery in her gaze. Yang wonders what her personality would be like. Would she really be confident and mysterious as she appears? Or would that be a whole facade and she's actually totally different? Would she be a good person? Would she and Yang be friends if she wasn’t part of a dream?

“Blake!”

Someone suddenly comes up to Yang and she hears their angry voice behind her. She flinches and avoids just in time to let out a scream. Yang turns slowly and finds in front of her a girl with her hands resting on her hips and a stern look on her face. Her hair is very long, tied up in a tall, sideways ponytail, the brightest silver Yang’s ever seen. In fact, she’s never seen anyone with such a whitish and silvery color before. Her big blue, ice-cold eyes are piercing into Yang’s with a total disapproving and reproaching look. Yang shrinks instinctively, even though she knows the girl is shorter than she is and she's not going to do anything to her – _or so I hope, I don't even know her!_

“So now you deign to show up, huh? Skipping half a morning of classes!”

The girl Yang doesn’t recognize walks up to her, more and more threatening, eyes of burning ice. With an accusing finger pointing at her, she continues taking steps towards Yang, not taking her eyes off her. Yang takes as many steps back, not really knowing what she should say _– I don't know what's going on!_ – Nerves climb up Yang’s body as if driven by electricity, the hair on her neck bristling.

“Uh... I...”

Yang stutters, but it doesn't seem to be what the girl wanted to hear. She strikes again.

“So you really have nothing to say?”  Somehow, her gaze seems to ignite with even more wrath and her voice grows sharper. Yang’s mind stops functioning altogether, there's definitely something intimidating with this girl. “You've also ignored my messages!”

“I'm sorry...” Yang says, almost whispering.

She half-closes her eyes, she doesn’t want to see the reaction the girl is about to have now, if she'll get even more angry – _Who's this girl? And what have I done to deserve this?_ Yang thinks to herself. She weeps inside while waiting for more words of reproach. Instead, Yang hears a long sigh. She opens her eyes again and the girl who had been terrifying a few seconds ago now just looks a little tired. Yang no longer finds anger in her eyes, but a trace of concern in a now kinder look.

“Do you have any idea how worried we were about you?” The honesty in her words moves Yang. She opens her mouth a little to answer, and just then she remembers the message on the phone this morning. She must be Weiss. Maybe calling her by her name will help her relax.

“Sorry, Weiss.”

Yang looks deep into her eyes, watching as all tracks of anger and concern disappear, replaced by a semblance of self-confidence that bathes her gaze. Then she gives her a small half smile, shaking her head slightly, as if saying that it doesn't matter anymore. Yang smiles a little too, relieved. Weiss starts walking ahead, passing in front of Yang, when she hears her talk again.

“Come on, let's go get something to eat.”

And so Yang starts to follow Weiss till she’s walking beside her. _What a strange girl_.

 

* * *

 

“You were lost?”

Someone called Ilia, a girl physically smaller than Yang that looks like she’s never harmed a fly, looks at Yang with a totally confused face and with her big eyes excessively open. This girl, just like Weiss, has a very long hair tied up in a high ponytail. But unlike her, Ilia has a shiny brown mane with no bangs – well, she does have a little lock that falls onto her forehead, but Yang doesn’t think she can call that bangs. Her thick brows give her face a friendly look with two big light eyes, almost silver – but not silver like Ruby’s, hers are bluish –, stare at Yang with curiosity. Her face is sprinkled with funny freckles – _so cute!_

Now that Yang is looking closely she doesn’t have them only on her face, but on her arms, neck and hands. She’s never seen so many freckles on a single person. _Still cute!_

“Can you please explain to us,” Weiss interrupts Yang’s thinking with a mocking tone, “how come you’ve gotten lost on your way here?”

“Well…” Yang stutters. What should she say? She can’t just tell them she’s not Blake, but a random country girl that has nothing to do with them! Though, if this is really a dream, it doesn’t actually matter what Yang says to them. _Still…_

The three of them are sitting on some benches that are on the high school’s rooftop, Weiss said something about staying in the sun for a while. Even though it’s break time, there’s almost no one around them. Maybe they don’t want to get tanned. Or maybe the building’s so big that there are plenty of places to be in. Yang would like to explore, but right now she has two pair of eyes staring at her, inquiring.

“You see,” she starts, faking her confident tone. “I’ve slept in, then I got distracted on the way.”

“Distracted by what?” Weiss stares at her narrowing her eyes, not completely believing what she’s saying.

“Fuck…” Yang mutters, biting her lip. _I hadn’t thought about that yet!_ Yang mentally checks the things she’s seen this morning while the two girls look at her with growing suspicion. She ends up saying the first thing that crosses her mind. “Hum… a cat cafe!”

“Really…?” Ilia makes a half-stunned, half-incredulous look, looking at Yang’s cat ears that rest on top of her head and then to her. Yang blushes. She had totally forgotten that she was a faunus now, this is a mess!

“Did you just say ‘ _fuck_ ’?” Weiss crosses her arms skeptically, as if it was something her friend Blake would never say. Anxiety climbs up Yang’s back; she’s saying all the wrong things. She bites her lip again.

“Truth is…” Yang sighs, giving up. She tries to find the easiest and most believable excuse and she throws it at them. “I didn’t feel so well this morning, it’s just that.”

“Blake, are you okay?” The concern bathing Ilia’s eyes moves Yang, and she gets the feeling that she’s probably a very sweet girl. Yang nods, smiling a little.

“Have you checked your temperature? You might have a fever,” Weiss, still with a mistrustful look in her eyes, stretches her hand out to touch Yang’s forehead. She gently pushes it aside.

“I’m fine, really. I just had a bad headache.”

Yang lies, but she can’t tell them that she’s actually not their friend, they’d think she’s crazy. They seem satisfied with her answer so she lets out the breath she didn’t notice she was holding and relaxes, looking around her. Just like the rest of this building, the rooftop terrace is amazing – spacious, spotless, with courts for playing various sports and with a big silver fence that keeps them from falling. The sun shines through it’s fine metal, just like it glowed on every window of this bright city. Yang remembers the sense of freedom she tasted while walking by every street, and she lets it flow over her again.

“It has been amazing,” she whispers to herself, lost in her imagination, but Weiss and Ilia hear her and they turn to look at Yang, waiting for her to continue. Yang gets nervous again, scratching the back of her neck. “I mean… Atlas is so full of life! It’s like being on a festival all the time!”

The two girls look at each other with a weird expression on their faces. Yang notices the ears on top of her head lowering a bit, probably because she feels like a walking disaster. _Why is it so hard to pretend to be another person?_

“Hey, is it just me, or you’re talking strange today?” Ilia holds her chin, thoughtful. Weiss nods but she doesn’t add anything else. “You also have an accent.”

 _Huh? Am I talking that weird? Do I have an accent?_ Yang feels the blush rising up on her cheeks, her faunus ears duck again. _I’m not a city dweller, what were you expecting?_ Yang thinks to herself, avoiding to meet their gazes and focusing on what’s far beyond the iron fence, where the blue sky is painted with clouds like white strokes. This dream surprises her more and more because of the level of detail that it has. It’s a blast. Yang wishes she could bring Ruby, she knows Ruby would love this. Well, Yang can always tell her all about this tomorrow, but she’ll probably won’t believe her.

“Where’s your lunch, Blake?”

Weiss asks, as if she had decided that’s better to put the topic aside. Yang silently thanks her. But now that she thinks about it… She forgot to bring the lunch box. _How could I have known that you could get hungry in a dream?_ Even so, Yang rummages in the bag just in case she does find something. She finds nothing. There are a couple books, notebooks, a pencil case with lots of pens, a tiny mirror, a small comb, a pocket umbrella, the wallet… but no food. Yang gets even more nervous, and even though she knows she won’t find anything else, she keeps searching, because she’s said enough wrong things already and she doesn’t want them to be even more suspicious of her than what they already are. Then Yang hears Weiss sighing. She stands up fast, picking up her things with graceful movements.

“Let’s go buy you something.”

And without giving her a chance to say anything, not even a thank you, Weiss starts walking away heading inside the building. Ilia stands up too, waiting for Yang with a soft smile of understanding. Until now she hadn’t noticed, but now that she’s standing close, Yang can see the tip of her ponytail ending with a little twirl. Also, what she first though were freckles are actually bigger marks than normal ones. _Is she a faunus like Blake?_ One of Yang’s cat ears twitches with curiosity.

Yang gets up and starts walking next to Ilia to catch Weiss. _What a bad habit she has, walking ahead of everybody_ , Yang thinks to herself, but by the concerned tone she spoke to her before and the fact that she’s now showing the initiative to go buy her something to eat, Yang understands this is her way of caring for others. What a weird girl.

“Do you think she’s mad again?” Yang asks Ilia. She wouldn’t like to face that temper twice today. A chill spreads through her body when she remembers it.

“Not at all,” she makes an unworried gesture with her hand and shrugs. “You know her. It’s just that she worries about you. Well, same goes for me. I too worry about you. I mean, you matter to me,” Ilia stutters, getting redder until she’s a blushing mess. Wait, in fact it’s her big freckles the ones that are turning pink. _I knew she was a faunus, so cute!_ “I’m trying to say… That we both care about you…”

“I know,” Yang gently nudges her, smiling wide. She likes them, maybe she could be friends with her and Weiss if the circumstances were different. If they weren’t part of a dream, she thinks. “Thanks, Ilia.”

Ilia blushes even more – _is that possible?_ – and opens her mouth to answer, but in that moment Weiss spins around and, as if the thought just flew over her head, she asks.

“By the way, would you like to go a cafeteria and drink something after class?”

She says, with the most casual tone ever. Yang stares at her, her ears perking up on top of her head.

“It’s cool with me,” Ilia nods.

 _Wait a second, where do they want to go?_ Yang’s chest fills with a thrill that she can barely contain, just like this morning, at the very verge of exploding. Weiss locks her eyes on Yang, a confident ice blue glow on her gaze.

“What about you, Blake?” She asks. “You’re coming to the cafeteria too, right?”

With her eyes widely opened and her cat ears trembling with excitement, Yang takes some steps until she’s uncomfortably close to Weiss, who’s looking at her with the oddest and more startled of expressions. But Yang doesn’t seem to care. Her heart buzzes, hopeful.

“Go to a… To a… Cafeteria!?” Yang shouts in the middle of the hallway, not able to contain herself anymore. Ilia and Weiss frown deeply, as if this was the strangest situation they’ve ever been in.

Yang has learnt that Blake definitely isn’t a person who curses or who shows emotions freely. But what can she do? She’s her total opposite! And they’ve said they’re going to a real cafeteria, Yang’s finally taking revenge on the bus station’s cafe! _This day’s getting better each second_ , Yang thinks with her mind practically in the clouds, so wrapped up in ecstasy like it hasn’t been for a very long time.


	6. A nightmare inside a dream

Two tiny and cute little dogs, sitting on some grid chairs and dressed in little suits that make them look like pop singers, look at Yang with eyes that are like two candy balls, moving their little tails non-stop. Yang’s heart melts with tenderness – _they’re so cute!_ They look like the kind of puppies you see on TV. In fact, this whole cafeteria also looks like one of those modern cafes where celebrities go for coffee, lifting their pinkies and having elegant conversations.

Yang’s sitting in a very comfortable and roomy wicker chair, with Weiss and Ilia observing the cafeteria with pleased faces that say ‘this place is nice’, while Yang’s head goes ‘this place is totally awesome!’. The distance between one table and another is excessively wide, as if they wanted to leave a personal and private space for each table. There are quite a few people now that she’s looking around, each person with a different look – half of them are foreigners, Yang can tell for how she hears them speak – _I'm still amazed at how much I hear with this faunus ears_. A third of them wear sunglasses, even though they’re inside a hall and the sun doesn't shine on them directly; others wear hats, and nobody wears a suit like Weiss, Ilia and Yang are. If Yang had to guess what they do for a living, she’d be clueless. They’re all so different! Nothing to do with the people she sees on Patch, because they’ll most likely be all farmers.

The café is decorated with a lot of wood; in fact, the ceiling is made entirely of polished wood beams with a royal style. From them hang semicircular lamps that project a faint white light, since the sun still comes in through the large windows that are placed on the walls. It's a very large and bright room. Yang looks at everything, fascinated. It's the first time she’s been in a cafeteria like this! And the little puppies keep looking at her, all cute and happy.

“The structure of the wooden ceiling is exquisite,” Weiss says with critical eye.

“Yes,” Ilia nods vehemently. “It’s certainly very elaborated.”

As Yang gazes around, Ilia and Weiss notice every detail of the place and share it with each other. They’ve tried to drag Yang into their conversation too, but as she has no idea of buildings she just nodded and smiled until one of them brought another thing up. She guesses both of them, and probably Blake Belladonna as well, are interested in architecture and they visit trendy cafes like this one. Maybe that's what they study at that elegant high school – Yang didn't manage to get to class in the end so she wouldn’t know. That would also explain why this Blake girl has her room full of so many drawings of buildings and different constructions, they have to interest her a lot. _With that ability to draw and that passion, I'm sure she'll go far_. Yang smiles to herself, she’s discovered a new trait of Blake that she didn't know, and she’s happy for a moment to think that Blake is more than just a face in the mirror. Yang wishes she could meet her someday, maybe in another dream, she wonders. Even so, Yang can't help but think it's a bit of a strange hobby, girls in her class hang out to paint their nails and watch contests on TV!

“What are you ordering, Blake?” Weiss asks, dragging Yang out of her world.

Well, now that she has mentioned it, Yang’s been so focused on looking at the cafeteria that she doesn’t know what food there is. She focuses her attention on the massive leather menu on the table in front of her, and she opens it slowly and carefully. With fine, elegant writing, the list of things they can order is endless. Yang gets her mouth watery just by reading the dessert part, even those with such a strange name that she doesn’t have any idea what they might taste like. Coconut pancake, chocolate banana pancake, blueberry cheese pancake, tropical pancake... Yang wonders what the pancakes will be like, big and puffy. Or the cakes, fresh and delicious. Or ice cream, cool and exotic. Or the smoothies, bubbly and sweet. If Yang could come every day, she’d end up ordering everything on the menu. _What should I order_ , Yang thinks happily as she jumps from one dessert to another with her eyes. _Wait_. Now that she thinks about it, she’s probably should check the prices first.

“Oh, my God!” Yang exclaims, pushing the menu a bit away from her, alarmed. “I could live a whole month with what this pancake costs!”

“Do you live in the Stone Age or what?” Ilia laughs, innocently.

Yang opens her mouth to complain again but she closes it immediately. _Everything is very expensive, it's not my fault that I come from a small town and I’m poor!_ Weiss and Ilia fix their eyes on Yang – Ilia with a funny expression, she probably thought Yang was joking; but Weiss glances at her, serious and suspecting her again, as if adding this comment to the list of 'strange things Blake has said today that make her not sound like Blake at all'. It's probably just a matter of time before she tells Yang something like ‘You're not really Blake, who are you?’ and the cover will be blown. Yang gets nervous thinking about it, she wouldn't know what to say, and she doesn’t want to have to face an angry Weiss again. But, actually... If this is a dream, Yang shouldn’t mind being exposed. And she shouldn’t mind ordering some pancakes, either. Actually, it's not her money, it's Blake Belladonna's. This idea makes Yang feel better and now she’s definitely determined to order the most amazing thing she can find in the menu. All in all, it's just a dream!

The pancake Yang orders has several layers and is the most spongy and fluffiest food she’s ever tasted. It's like biting a piece of sky, like eating a sweet cloud with honey and fruits slipping on its smooth surface, so delicious that she thinks she’s ascended beyond paradise, unleashing exquisite culinary sensations in her mouth. Yang believes that, after this, she won’t want to try anything else in her whole life.

_Ah... What a dream..._

After finishing the stunning pancake, that looked more like an imposing fortress surrounded by pieces of mango and blueberries, Yang lets out a deep sigh of satisfaction and sips her cinnamon coffee. It's a good thing she took that picture of it when she got it, cause it was perfect even for the sight. Yang wishes she could send it to Pyrrha, she’s sure her friend would be a little jealous. But someday Yang will bring her and Jaune to a restaurant like this one, to try celestial pancakes together. Though, Ilia and Weiss aren't bad company either, Yang likes them. Even though their conversation topics are a bit weird to her – _seriously, what high schooler talks about architecture on their free time!?_

Then something shakes in Yang’s pocket. She takes Blake’s phone out and the message she sees on the screen erases all the satisfaction the pancake just gave her, and it makes her worried for a second. It's full of angry emojis, as if someone somewhere in this city was very angry at Blake Belladonna. Yang keeps reading the message.

“Oh no, what do I do?” Yang says, alarmed, as she turns her phone so they can see the scary message too. “I'm late for work! Someone who seems to be my boss is very angry!”

“Oh, did you have a shift today?” Ilia asks with all the peace and calmness of the world as she sips her coffee.

 

“You'd better hurry. The longer you take, the more upset they'll be,” Weiss adds, glancing sideways at Yang. “Being late for class and now for work as well...”

“Right! You're right!” Yang nods, getting up in a hurry, but just as she’s about to turn to leave, a very obvious thought bursts into her head.

“...What's up with you now?” Weiss tilts her head, looking at Yang with a strange look in her ice-cold eyes.

“Uh, girls...” Yang scratches the back of her head with a nervous smile. “Could you remind me where I work...?”

“...What?"

Yang notices Weiss' eyes narrowing dangerously, but if she's going to say something she finally decides not to. Yang sighs internally, still smiling awkwardly. She feels an ear twitching on top of her head. Rather than looking at her with disbelief, Yang thinks the two now think she’s been trying to play a bad joke on them all day. _But what do you want me to do? It's not my fault I don't know anything about this girl!_

 

* * *

 

“Is my order going to take much longer?” A lady frowns.

“Blake, take note of table 12!” Another waiter urges her.

“I'm sorry, but this isn't what I asked for...” A gentleman looks at her with annoyance.

“Blake, I just told you we're out of truffles!” A cook scolds her.

“I’ve been waiting a lot of time, can you charge me now, please?” An old lady pressures her.

“Blake, get out of the way!” Another waitress pushes her.

“Blake, please take this seriously!” The chef roars at her.

“Blake!” The whole world yells at her, and Yang feels her energy running out.

She’s in a high-class Italian restaurant that seems to be very expensive. It's a very roomy, large two-storey restaurant – people can reach the second floor by an imposing imperial-looking staircase with very narrow steps. On the high ceiling hang huge, bright chandeliers that remind Yang of those film scenes where they show the castle from the inside, like in ‘Beauty and the Beast’. There are also big, modern-looking helical ventilators on the ceiling that swirl smoothly, freshening up the great hall. The decoration, simple but elegant, gives the hall an even more film-like atmosphere. The tables, with fine light blue tablecloths, are full of people talking from how their day has gone to complex business meetings, all customers dressed in a formal way. And the large windows with intricate wood and metal designs let you see the vibrant city of Atlas that extends beyond them, full of life, of a thousand colors and people flowing through it. Blake Belladonna, in a distinguished black and white suit and bow tie, works as a waitress in this restaurant. And by dinnertime, of course, this place is terribly crowded.

Yang mixes up the orders, she sets the tables wrong, customers look at her with disapproval and click their tongues and the chef yells at her several times. She feels as if she’s immersed in a current stronger than her, carrying her around at will, dragging her along with its relentless flow. Yang runs back and forth without a break from one place to another, as she’s been doing for a lot of hours now. At this point she’s lost the embarrassment of talking to strangers and she doesn’t see the people around her, she only sees dishes, orders, menus, tables to clean, notes to bring and more orders to deliver. Yang feels the energy draining slowly within her, but she keeps moving. _More than a dream, this has turned into a nightmare..._ Yang thinks to herself, rectifying a new mistake and trying not to fall down the stairs with the order again. _They don't have to be so mean to me, nobody understands it's my first day working here! This is all your fault, Blake Belladonna!_ Yang laments internally while she cleans another table.

“Hey, excuse me. Waitress,” a deep voice reaches her ears. “Hey, kitten.”

“Ah... Yes?”

Quickly, Yang turns in the direction of the owner of the voice. Something inside her revolves with disgust. _How can you call a waitress by her faunus features? Isn't that like super racist?_ Even though Yang doesn’t feel directly involved, she thinks this probably hasn’t been the first time Blake has been referred to by her ears. That idea triggers a kind of protective anger in Yang. Even if she doesn’t know her at all, and even if she's part of a dream, no one should call her or anybody just by their faunus traits. Besides her ears, Blake has many other more valuable things. She's probably a good friend, since Weiss and Ilia seem to be. She's passionate about the things she likes, her room's full of really great drawings made with care. She's probably a hard worker, too, cause that school seemed very challenging. And she has the courage to work in such a place several days a week! Yang doesn’t know where this feeling of familiarity comes from, or why it pissed her off this much that they were racially talking to a girl who's just part of a dream, but she feels the need to defend her, for some reason. At least now that she shares her body.

Yet... Yang can't face a person who's a client. For Blake's sake and her job, if Yang wants her to keep it. So she tries to focus her attention on him in a casual way.

The owner of the voice is a man with a look that doesn't fit in this place – he wears the collar of the shirt rolled up almost with superiority, a gold chain and several large, shiny rings, with the shirt the same color as the wine he holds in one hand. The smirk of self-sufficiency on his face makes Yang shiver a little.

“I found a toothpick inside the pizza,” he informs her with a faint clearly fake smile.

“What?” Yang tilts her head, confused.

The strange customer picks up with his fingers the last piece of basil pizza on his plate, showing her a toothpick that crosses the dough with an expression almost like satisfaction, as if proudly showing an achievement. Yang’s puzzled, not sure how to react. The client, while still smiling, adds.

“This is very dangerous, don't you think? It could've hurt me. Luckily I've noticed it, but even so,” his unpleasant smile widens. “Well, what are you going to do?”

“Huh...?”

 _You're the one who put that there! ,_ Yang feels like telling him, but something tells her that she can't say that to a customer. She makes a tentative smile. The man keeps his, narrowing his eyes almost menacingly. Another chill runs down Yang’s back in a second. She can't confront this guy, but she doesn’t want to tell him what he wants to hear either cause he's clearly making it up, and he's been disrespectful to Blake. She’s searching for the best answer she can think of.

“In an Italian restaurant there are no toothpicks, sir,” Yang holds his gaze, defiant. She sees his smile completely disappearing.

“Huh!?” He shouts angrily as he knocks the table so hard that he raises it from the floor for a moment. The murmurings of the restaurant freezes all at once and Yang feels all eyes turn to this table. Anger bubbles inside her, but she can't do anything. “I asked you what you plan to do about it!”

Her brain is buzzing with possible scenarios but neither of them please her enough – at least, not the ones where he doesn’t end up being punched in the face –, and she doesn’t have the experience to know what to do in this situations. Plus, the whole restaurant is now staring at them, and now that there isn’t the rumble of people’s voices mixed up in the background, all Yang can hear is the sound of her heart beating in her ears. _Quick, think of something, Xiao Long!_ But just as she opens her mouth to reply, Yang feels someone walking up to them.

“Gentleman, what's wrong?”

A waiter taller than Yang just appeared out of nowhere and shoves her away with what she discovers to be a faunus tail. _Is he a monkey faunus?_ He looks at Yang sideways with confidence bathing his clear eyes and whispers ‘I'll take care of it’. Another waitress Yang doesn’t know appears behind her, grabbing her arm and dragging her out of the scene.

“What's the matter with you today?” She asks her, worried, but Yang doesn’t pay attention to her. She searches through the tables again for the annoying client and the waiter who just saved her from having to deal with him.

“Please excuse the inconvenience,” Yang sees the boy apologizing with ease, as if it were the most usual thing in the world for him and not the first time he’s had to deal with situations like that. His calm and relaxed appearance makes Yang a little jealous. “The food is on the house, have no worries. I hope you didn't hurt yourself.”

The client calms down and so does all the restaurant staff. The soft murmurs of the hall can be heard again, as if someone had turned the volume switch, and Yang loses the thread of conversation.

 

* * *

 

The opening hours of the restaurant are finally over. The chandelier light is dimmed, the tablecloths of the tables are put away, and the workers are busy cleaning up – one takes inventory of the products in the fridge, another touches the telematic menu in the cash register, etc. As for Yang, she has to vacuum the floor – the vacuum cleaner is as big as a lawnmower. Now that there are no clients and the light that envelops the room is less bright, the place looks even bigger. But, after so many hours running from one side to another in this place, Yang finds it comforting to see it so quiet. She already recognizes some of the faces of those who work here, and as she passes by while she cleans, she nods to them as if she was saying ‘Good job!’. They always smile back, it’s nice. It's been exhausting, not going to lie, but it's also been a new experience Yang couldn’t have had back in Patch. This day is giving her a whole lot of special things and she’s having a great time living every single one, though she wouldn't mind going to Blake Belladonna's house and letting it end now. There's only one thing she wants to do before she leaves.

Yang still hasn’t found a good time to talk to the nice waiter who helped her before, and who's now cleaning the restaurant tables. She stops the vacuum cleaner for a moment and looks at him now that he's turned, she sees his back. He's quite taller than Yang is, sturdy and with a wide, strong back. He wears the same black and white uniform as she does, but Yang would say that beneath it he has well-toned muscles that tighten with every stroke he makes when cleaning the table. In fact, just like she thought she saw before, a tail like a monkey's playfully waves around him. Today she’s meeting so many faunus, this is amazing! Over his forehead fall some locks of his deep blond hair, almost like the summer sunshine, that he has in a fairly short and carefree haircut. Yang can't see the look on his face from here, but she does see his lips curled in a gentle smile, and she remembers the confidence in his sparkling blue eyes when he came to her rescue. With his long, strong legs, his muscular stomach, robust arms and that kindness and simplicity in his face, this boy gives Yang the feeling that he's dazzling in his way. Like one of those people who are simply shiny no matter what they do, whose sincere light reaches your heart and brightens your life with their presence. Yang finds him interesting and tries to get closer. Finally, as she walks past him she gets to read the small tag hanging from the shirt of his uniform. Sun. Now it's the time to talk to him!

“Excuse me, Sun,” Yang says aloud, getting close until she’s right in front of him. He turns and looks at her with a cheerful gesture, inviting her to talk. “Thank you so much for earlier.”

“Don't worry about it,” he says. “Anybody can have a bad day!”

He gives Yang a bright and blinding smile, making a gesture with the cleaning cloth as if trivializing it, which honestly makes her feel better. His eyelashes, incredibly long and dark that anyone would be jealous of, frame his eyes, as deep blue as seawater, that makes Yang feel like she’s looking at a beauty catalogue. His voice is so sexy that she can imagine the tickling it will cause in the girls he talks to. And his simple and sweet expression invites people to talk to him, to have a conversation as if he was a childhood friend. Yang likes this guy, he'd be a fun and interesting friend, she thinks.

“Besides, that idiot made it up,” he says, folding his arms behind his head and leaning on them, with that happy-go-lucky attitude Yang’s starting to get used to. He shrugs. “I followed the manual and he didn’t pay for his dinner, though.”

Totally unconcerned, Sun gives her one last dazzling smile before turning the cloth over and leaning to clean another table, ending the conversation since, for him, it has no more relevance. Yang admires him, she was quite emotional then but he acted responsibly and safely. And since then he hasn't lost his smile. She likes him, they really could be friends in her world. Yang draws closer to him again, determined to continue the conversation. Then another waitress' exclamation interrupts what she was going to say.

“Sun, your trousers!”

“Huh?”

Sun turns his torso to one side and looks at his back. A long, straight cut goes through the dark fabric of the waiter's trousers at the top of his thigh. Opening his eyes wide, and given how dangerously close that is to his underpants, Sun soon covers it by twisting his white apron. His expression is calm and untroubled, but Yang notices a slight unease in his gaze. It's only natural, who'd expect this? Yang’s sure it's been that jerk from before.

“Are you hurt?” The waitress asks, approaching Sun.

“What happened?” Another waiter appears out of nowhere.

“It's all right, I'm fine,” Sun smiles again, as if to cheer them up. “Don't worry.”

“Someone has cut his trousers,” someone else says.

“It must've been the guy from before,” a waiter grumbles next to Yang. Her thoughts exactly.

“Some time ago something similar happened,” the waiter adds. “Now that I think about it...”

“Do you remember his face?” Another boy gets near with an angry face.

“That idiot...!” Some other girl shows up, frustrated.

“It's all right, really,” Sun raises his hands trying to calm them all, but more and more workers keep coming and swirling around him, overwhelming him with questions. Yang notices on the curve of his smile that he's getting more nervous.

Now it's her turn to help him.

She steps forward, moved by a strange force that pulls her, and when she realizes it, Yang is holding Sun's hand and taking the two of them away from the crowd of people. Yang doesn’t know exactly where she’s heading, she just knows that his hand is warm in hers, and she wonders if this is something Blake Belladonna would've done.

 

* * *

 

Green for the field and the plants. Orange for flowers and butterflies. But she still needs one more thing. Something brown, maybe... She knows, a hedgehog. And she’ll make a little cream-colored nose in it.

Diligent, Yang fixes the cut of the trousers sewing the two ends. They’re in a room that's beyond the kitchens, a quiet place that she found when she fled from the restaurant's great hall with Sun. It looks like a room where they keep stuff, and luckily Yang found a sewing box – in which, for some reason, there were threads of different colors and Yang thought she could do something nice. Grandma has taught her the secrets of sewing for many years, and she’s also been a Priestess of the sanctuary of God of Creation for a long time, making her own fabrics, so he's in the best possible hands.

By inserting and removing the needle with an expert hand, the colored threads trace out original patterns on the boring black of the trousers, and Yang hums something peacefully as she sews. At the same time, Sun watches her with a curious and intrigued face, wearing a spare pair of trousers that they also found in this room, but that are a little too small for him.

“There you go!”

After five minutes of patching them up, Yang returns the trousers to Sun with a wide, proud smile. She’s happy with it, it's turned out to be a very nice and colorful design. She waits to see his reaction.

“This is unbelievable, Blake!” Yang sees Sun's eyes light up when he sees how it looks, and her smile gets a little bit wider. “Now I like it more than before! This is awesome, girl!”

Since the slit in the cloth was about ten centimeters long, Yang used that horizontal line to sew it by knitting a hedgehog playing on a field with flowers. Then she remembers when Ruby's t-shirts were torn while playing and she used to make patterns with the threads. She always would say that she liked them better when Yang fixed them than when they were new, and that never failed to make her smile. Sun, in a way, reminds her a bit of Ruby – Yang can see in both of them the sincerity and kindness drawn in their eyes, and she thinks he, like her sister, also has a big heart that he wants to share with everyone. Or that's the feeling Yang got when she saw his reaction to the trousers. With how handsome Sun is, this cute design suits him – it shows a tender side and not only the brilliant and masculine that everyone can see. His face, like a magazine model, shows Yang a nice, friendly smile that radiates closeness. She feels comfortable with Sun, she’s sure they could be good friends. Something inside Yang wonders if Blake is a close friend to him.

“Thank you so much for saving me from that guy before,” Yang thanks him again, happy to return the favor.

Sun grins at her and folds his pants over his lap, tail waving around him carelessly.

“I was actually a little worried about you,” he says, scratching the back of his head with a distracted, almost shy gesture. “I heard he called you ‘kitten’ and last time you almost got into a serious fight with the last person who made that kind of comment in this restaurant.”

He taps softly with his finger on the cheek with a funny gesture, and Yang opens her eyes wide. _Ah, I think I understand now what the Band-Aid was doing on Blake Belladonna's cheek this morning_. So she's really invested in the equality of the faunus, Yang thinks to herself, making her a little glad to keep discovering things about her. Though thanks to the Gods, those kind of comments and people are less seen nowadays, racist days are almost over.

“But you know what?” He says to her, playful tone of voice and confident smile. “I like you better today, Belladonna. I didn't know your expressive and cheerful side, not serious like every day.”

Yang’s ears on top of her head drop a little, and she bites her lip. Gee, she seems to be acting like Yang again and not like Blake. But thank goodness Sun is not like Weiss, and more than angry he seems to enjoy that she’s different today. From what he has said, Blake Belladonna seems like she's a quiet person and doesn't really show her emotions. Yang wonders if, in another world where this was more than just a dream and she could really meet her, if Yang could make Blake voice her feelings more.

Meanwhile, she gets the sense that Sun might be the spontaneous friend this girl needs. Yang looks at him, and his face is so full of light that it feels like it was daylight again and all the darkness in the world is gone. While she only met him a while ago, she likes Sun very much and she also enjoyed sharing this moment with him here in this room beyond the kitchens. Besides, he's made Yang learn something new from Blake that she didn't know, and for some reason that fills her with joy. This is, no doubt, the most treasured memory Yang’s bringing from her day in Atlas.

 

* * *

 

The yellow line train back home is almost empty. With the gentle rocking on the rails and the voices of some of the few passengers who are with her muffled in the distance, Yang leans on one of the mechanical doors of the train and watches the city of Atlas, the dazzling and impressive night scenery passing before her eyes.

Now that she sees it from afar and her mind flies over the moments she’s lived in it today, a thought pops up between one memory and another. It's not until now that Yang realizes that Atlas is full of a lot of smells. The twenty-four hour shops that are actually open to the public all day long, the chains of restaurants with their hundreds of delicious smells, the people who're constantly around with different looks, the parks full of nature all around, the areas under construction with their heavy machinery and their characteristic noises, the train station at night with that fresh smell of night city, the inside of the train with the desire to get home that all passengers share... Every ten steps the smells change. Until today, Yang hadn't realized that when a lot of people get together they make spectacular concentrations of smells, and also beautiful sceneries. Through the glass, Atlas, full of life even at night, greets her with its shimmering lights. And each and every one of those window lights that pass her by is a porthole to the life of people that live in this city. Yang’s eyes get blurry as she looks at the countless buildings lined up to the ends of the world, like overwhelming saws of unquestionable presence. Her heart beats with tired excitement, overflowing with all the magic that shines before her eyes.

...and Blake Belladonna is one of the people who live in this city. Yang reaches out to the glass window of the train, to her face, that shows her an unreadable glance in those wild golden eyes. Yang may have gone through some troubled moments, but she has to admit that meeting this girl has been a really great experience. With the back of her hand, Yang gently touches the glass where the contour of her beautiful face is reflected, to which she’s already getting used to. Her pupils shine with a feeling Yang wouldn't know how to describe, and her chest beats inconsistently. The way her ears twitch from now and then, how her eyebrows wrinkle when she frowns, how the city lights draw cryptic, golden glimpses from her sharp eyes, and the soft way her mouth bends into a tender smile, as if it weren't a gesture she often makes. Yang’s starting to feel a kind of intimacy with her body, a sort of bond with this girl. A connection, as if she was a partner who fought with her through the battle of this very tiring day. Like someone Yang deeply knows, though she’d never seen her before today. As if a part of Yang was at home being with her, being part of her. That familiar feeling swirls in her chest, overwhelming her. And she stares at her face again, where her secretive eyes look back at Yang like someone who's found something they've been looking for a really long time. So close, so real. But still...

“This is the most realistic dream I've ever had in my life,” Yang mumbles, still with her hand leaning against the window. After all, this is just a dream.

When she gets home, Yang lies down again in the bed where she woke up this morning. Or rather, where she fell from this morning.

Tomorrow she’ll tell Pyrrha and Jaune all about this adventure. ‘Listen to this crazy dream I've had!’ Yang would tell them, and Jaune would look at her with curiosity while Pyrrha would encourage her to keep talking. Then, Yang would tell them every single detail she remembers, and promise them that someday they’ll come to Atlas and she’ll take them to eat those delightful pancakes. Glancing around the room, with all the drawings and books everywhere, Yang thinks again of the astonishing level of realism this dream has. And, for the first time during the whole day – well, apart from that time at the restaurant when she was very stressed – Yang thinks about how she can wake up. She guesses, if she falls asleep in the dream, she’ll wake up in her real life tomorrow. Yes, that makes sense. But Yang doesn’t want to go to sleep yet, she doesn’t want to say goodbye so soon to this wonderful world. Her heart's still full of excitement with all the things that have happened since this morning.

Yang lies on her back in bed and starts playing with Blake Belladonna's phone. _Oh, she has a kind of diary_ , Yang thinks to herself as she enters the app, curious. _What kind of things would a quiet Atlas student write?_

 

<<7/9 Dinner at a Schnee restaurant with Weiss and Ilia>>

<<6/9 Cinema in Mantle>>

<<31/8 Architectural observation of a planetarium>>

<<25/8 Payment day!>>

 

 _So organized_. Yang can't help but feel a bit of admiration as she reads the titles of each entry and she scrolls down, from most to least recent. From dining in restaurants to planetariums, visits to museums, trips with Weiss and Ilia, school festivals, concerts, summer vacations with her parents... This girl has a very enjoyable life, full of great memories. Yang feels a pinch of jealousy, she wishes she could also get out of Patch and live adventures, go to planetariums, or travel with her parents and Ruby somewhere.

Then she taps the gallery app and the screen fills with special moments from Blake's life. Yang jumps from one to another, trying to view them all, imagining what it would be like to have lived those moments like her and how they must’ve felt like. Most of the photos are of landscapes and buildings – it makes sense, considering that this girl loves architecture. She probably took these photos so she could draw them later, Yang thinks. Followed secondly are those where Ilia and Weiss show up. The two of them posing with a bunch of dresses, Weiss with a half-smile and Ilia with a cheerful expression; both of them asleep resting their heads on each other on a train; a photo of the three of their wrists with matching bracelets, a picture of Weiss and Ilia trying wigs with short hair, another of them walking through a park in autumn, a photo of Weiss asleep in what looks like a hotel with a marker-painted face and the next photo of Ilia running with an awake and pissed Weiss in the background, etc.

Yang keeps passing through the photos and finds more of that style, a mix between beautiful landscapes and photos of her friends where she barely ever appears. Blake seems like the kind of girl who does things for others rather than being the center of attention herself, Yang thinks to herself. She keeps passing pictures. A restaurant with a ‘grand opening’ banner, the way home from school, a black kitten scratching an ear, a smoothie in a cafeteria with chic atmosphere, buildings bathed in the light of the sunset, the figure of her friends' backs as an airplane passes through the sky, and so on. They look like a very close group of friends.

“Life in Atlas is amazing,” Yang whispers to herself and yawns. She knows she should be sleeping by now, but she keeps passing pics. She wants to absorb as much as she can about Blake, about this life, this dream, before she has to leave it forever. Then Yang sees a picture that makes her wake up from her almost slumber state. “It's Sun!”

The shot is of Sun from behind. He's wiping the windows of the restaurant with bright sunlight reflected on the glass. Yang gets the feeling it's a photo taken in secret. _So Blake does those things too, huh?_ She thinks, finding the idea funny. Yang passes the image and in the next photo appears Sun, who seems to have noticed that he was being photographed, and smiles at the camera widely making the gesture of victory, his tail rolled up distractedly on his arm.

 _Don't tell me Blake likes Sun!_ , Yang thinks unconsciously. But from the pictures and the way he's treated her today, she gets the feeling it's an unrequited love. Yang feels a little sorry for Blake, she's very pretty and she's probably a great person. But Sun's a college student and he's a few years older than they both are, Blake's still in high school. With Sun's careless and free nature, he probably hasn't even noticed that Blake feels something towards him. A part of Yang wishes she could do something for Blake, to make her feel good.

Yang straightens up a bit and adds a new entry in the diary app. She starts to describe everything that happened to her today – how she got lost on her way to school, but all the amazing things she saw on the way; the lunch break with Weiss and Ilia, with whom she later went to the cafeteria, were they served those delicious pancakes; when she was late for work, but in the end nothing too bad happened. And, well, all the times she screwed up at the restaurant and made a mistake with the orders and serving the food ( _I still think it wasn't entirely my fault!_ ), and how she ended up getting along better with Sun at the end of the day. Yang is also writing how they got back together from work to the station. She describes it all with many details, so Blake will be happy to read it. Yang can't help but feel proud of herself for how nicely written everything is and how hard she’s worked today, now that she’s thinking about it. She’s sure that, if Blake reads this at some point, maybe in another dream, she'll feel proud too. That thought makes Yang happy. When she finally finishes the entry, she yawns again. Then...

**“Who are you?”**

For some reason, Yang has remembered those big dark letters that were written all over her literature notebook; with those unknown and abrupt strokes, as if the person who wrote them was kinda nervous, big letters filling the whole page. The image of Blake Belladonna with Yang’s body and writing those words sitting on her bed in her room in Patch before going to bed comes to her mind for some reason. It's a strange idea, but considering everything that's happened to her today, it even makes some sense. Still, Yang thought this was a dream... Well, whatever, she’s too sleepy now to think about it. She’ll give it another thought tomorrow. But first, Yang gets the black marker that's on the desk and writes in the palm of her hand in large letters.

**“Yang”**

She yawns again. Her eyelids feel heavy. ‘Please, let's go to sleep’, they seem to say, and with the day she’s had, Yang’s not surprised she’s this tired. The restaurant has been a torture until she had met Sun, but actually, the rest of the day has been a blast, and meeting Weiss and Ilia has also been nice. She turns off the lights and lies on the bed, looking out the window, at the city that extends beyond where her tired eyes reach, as she notices her mind turning off and blank more each passing second. Today has been a truly unforgettable day, so vivid and colorful as if she’d been bathed in rainbow light. The world around her was shining so brightly with its own light, without any need for her to put a soundtrack in the background like she’s used to do back home.

And while Yang imagines, smiling, the astonished face that Blake Belladonna will make when she sees the message she left on her hand, she finally falls into Morpheus' arms.


	7. While I dream, that girl and I...

“What's this?”

The alarm on her phone wakes her up early in the morning and she opens her eyes with laziness, still with the last traces of a dream in her mind that’s already beginning to fade away. The first thing she sees when she focuses her gaze is something dark that she doesn’t recognize on her hand, that rests on the pillow next to her head. One of her ears twiches and she rises slowly, still drowsy. She looks at her hand and she can't help but ask herself the question out loud, stunned by the childish and somewhat blurred strokes of the letters resting in her palm.

**"Yang"**

_When did I write this...? What does "Yang" mean?_ Her mind, still wrapped in the mist of the dream from which she’s just awakened, tries to revolve around these questions and look for a logical reason, but finds nothing but a haven of mystery that lies between her temples. The morning light enters through the window and is reflected in the black ink, while some birds sing happily, as morning arrives.

As Blake lowers her eyes, she sees that she’s still wearing her uniform, extremely creased, and her tie, loosely knotted and asymmetrical. She frowns. _Did I go to bed yesterday with it on?_ Her head spins even more, thinking that maybe she ended up exhausted yesterday and fell asleep straight away. For some reason, Blake knows that's not right, before she goes to sleep she always leaves the uniform properly on for the next morning and leaves the room tidy, not like the mess it is now. There's no way she’s forgotten something like that, Blake’s not like this.

“What does all this mean...?”

She whispers to herself. But no matter how intrigued she is, Blake still has to go to school and she doesn’t want to be late or keep Weiss and Ilia waiting, so she shakes her head and gets up, taking out of her mind everything that doesn't fit and hiding it in a corner where it doesn't bother her.

After getting up, Blake goes to the bathroom and tries with all her might to make the uniform fairly presentable, which is more difficult than it seems because she has literally slept in it and it is a mess. Blake imagines Weiss' disapproving face and sighs. She’s also looking for her orange bracelet, which she wears every day around her left wrist and which she’s had for a long time now, and she finds it resting neatly on the desk. It seems like Blake didn't have it on her yesterday, and that's also really weird because she practically can't leave the house without wearing it – _really, what happened to me last night?_ Her reflection in the mirror gives her a tired look, and she yawns. _Surely it doesn't matter that much_. Blake opens the door and goes to the living room where her father is already having breakfast. She looks around and she can't find her mother, so she guesses she's already gone to work.

Blake sits next to her father, a robust, tanned man, with dark hair brushing his shoulders. He's so big that when she sees him sitting, it feels like the chair is miniscule. But as big as he is his heart. He used to be interested in politics, but recently he left it so that he could devote himself full-time to his office in Menagerie and to his family. When Blake sits down, he gives her a huge smile with marked fangs. Blake returns it to him.

“Up in time today, huh?”

His playful smile reaches his eyes, an intense and lively yellow. The half smile Blake is giving him back this time is not entirely honest. _What does he mean?_ She hasn’t overslept in weeks, she’s always as punctual as possible.

“I guess so.”

She shrugs, adding this comment to the list of things that don't make sense this morning. And, like all the others, Blake pushes it to a corner of her mind where it doesn't trouble her. She could ask him what he means by that, but her father has refocused his attention on the breakfast bowl and so she decides to play with her phone while she eats hers with a distracted mind and a somewhat tired feeling.

Blake makes a mental list, ordering things that don't really fit, like she usually does to look objectively at a problem and find a reasoning or a solution. Blake can't be comfortable knowing that there are things out of place in her life. For some reason she ignores, she must have come home exhausted yesterday because she fell asleep in her uniform and didn't fold it like every night. She wasn't wearing her wristband either, she has a lot of unanswered messages from Weiss from yesterday, and when she checked her wallet she found quite a bit less money than she should be having. But the weirdest thing of all is that Blake can't remember what happened yesterday. She narrows her eyes, wondering, trying to remember something that makes sense of this messy puzzle of meaningless clues, but she finds nothing. Blake feels as if her mind is torn in two by a massive crater that separates her from all the memories of yesterday. Frustration swirls in her chest. _Ugh, it's useless, I can't remember anything_. Then the brilliant idea occurs to her – check the diary she writes on her phone. If something important happened yesterday, there's no way Blake wouldn't write about it. _Yes_ , she tells herself. _Yesterday has to be written there_. Satisfied that she was going to solve this mystery soon, Blake taps the phone's diary app.

_Huh?_

In the most recent post among all the purple entries, a new bright yellow entry stands out, as if proudly. It's from last night at 23:04. Blake looks at it, stunned. She glances at her father, who keeps on having breakfast and reading the newspaper with ease, oblivious to the whirlwind of uncertainty and nerves that slowly sprouts in her daughter. Blake shakes her head and shuffles her options – close the app and pretend nothing of this unusual stuff is happening, or come in and check what happened yesterday, no matter how strange everything is turning out. Blake enters to read it, and at each sentence, the hair of the back of her neck bristles more, and a cold sweat runs up her spine until it reaches her ears, that twiches. _I didn't write this, there's no way this is mine._

 

 

**(Thursday 14, 23:04 pm) What a strange dream.**

"This morning I woke up falling out of bed, silly me. After putting on my uniform in the bathroom (the Band-Aid on my face still hurts, don't touch it!) that sweet lady made breakfast for me, but she left before I could actually talk to her. It was all so good! I like her ears, they're bigger than mine and they have piercings. Maybe I should wear some too. Will they be as soft as mine are?

Weiss sent me a message and she seemed very angry, telling me I was late for class. So scary. It's a good thing Google Maps exists! I was on my way to school as fast as I could, though I did get lost a few times. But what can I say, Atlas is fantastic! It feels like a non-stop festival! With all those interesting, modern and exciting things it's only natural that I got out of the way a few times, but I managed to get there, which is what counts, right?

When I arrived at class, Weiss was so fierce with me. I've never been so scared with so few words. But deep down, I know she really acted like that because she was worried. Weird girl. Ilia is quite nice, I love her freckles.

The three of us went to a cafeteria and, while I hesitated a lot, in the end I ordered the biggest pancakes there were, and I'm glad I did! It was like biting a piece of sky, or a cloud! I took a few pictures of it.

They sent me another scary message again, this time it was someone who seemed to be my boss. Luckily the girls helped me get to work, this time I didn't get lost on the way. The restaurant was beautiful, but it was a nightmare. So much stress!

 After the shift, Sun offered to walk me to the station. What a gentleman! He has a very nice, bright smile, it looks like it was taken from a beauty magazine, and he didn't stop smiling all the way! He told me that today he liked to see my sweet and cheerful side :) ”

 

“But,” Blake stutters. “What is this?!”

She demands aloud, her heart pounding up her throat. Blake’s father gives her a strange look.

 

* * *

 

“Blake, are you coming to the cafeteria today, again?” Weiss looks at Blake in a peculiar way that she doesn’t quite understand, waiting for her answer.

On the high school roof, the warm breeze that signals the coming of spring rocks her hair with a pleasant softness, caressing her cheeks and bringing to her nose the sweet smells of the cherry blossoms that are about to bloom. While Blake should be totally laid-back in this environment, the truth is that she has a strange feeling that lingers in her chest. And the fact that Weiss and Ilia have been looking at her in a weird way all morning doesn't help. They've been glancing sideways at her the whole time, like waiting for Blake to do or say something. But she has no idea what they're waiting for. She could ask, but it's probably her imagination because of the inexplicable things that went on this morning. Blake decides not to give it any more thought and continue with the day as if nothing were going on.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Blake answers in a perfectly neutral tone, admiring the buildings beyond. The city sounds are muffled by the voices of the other classmates who chat and laugh on the roof. “I work today.”

Ilia gives her a playful smile, leaning over to Blake.

“And can you remember how to get there already?”

“What...?”

Blake starts, frown forming on her forehead. Weiss smiles, complicit, not lifting her eyes from her food. Blake notices how her ears bend almost unnoticeably. _What does she mean?_ The question is phrased in her head and she starts all over again trying to find a logical answer, but it seems that nothing this morning is logical. _I've been working at the same place since last year and I know the way there by heart, there's no way I could possibly forget_. Then the strange entry Blake found in her diary pops into her mind. She remembers reading how yesterday Blake supposedly got lost on her way to work, among many other senseless things. Something _clicks_ in her head.

“Ilia, was it you who wrote that on my phone?”

Now Blake’s the one who can't help but lean towards her, while faking a neutral tone in her voice. _It all fits, it has to be a very elaborate prank_. They've been waiting all morning to see what Blake’s reaction would be, that explains the sidelong glances. She doesn’t remember letting her have Blake’s phone, but she could have taken it when Blake was distracted. Everything fits, but the only thing that doesn't make sense is that Ilia isn't one to make this kind of tasteless pranks. And Weiss far less. Plus, Blake has a vague feeling that she can't really put her finger on what it is, like a hunch that tells her she’s wrong. But it has to be them. Blake _wants to believe_ that it was them, if not... _Ugh, I don't understand anything_. Her head is spinning.

“Huh?”

“What do you mean, Blake?”

Ilia tilts her head with an innocent face, completely wiping away the playful touch she had before and changing it to an almost confused look, and Weiss scowls as she stares at Blake. Clearly neither of them has any idea what she’s talking about. Blake sighs. She’s getting paranoid trying to solve this riddle of which she has more and more pieces that don't belong together. Blake shakes her head and gives them a half-grin.

“Nothing, don't mind me,” she says, standing up and picking up her things following an impulse. “I'm off, I've got stuff to do. See you, girls.”

Blake heads for the exit with quick steps, trying to dismiss the questions that pile up at breathtaking speed in her brain. _It's no big deal_ , she tells herself, _they're just freaky coincidences, nothing more_. Blake takes the phone out of the bag and unlocks it. No out-of-place notifications, and there are still two hours left before her shift begins. Which means Blake has time to finish some sketches of a sanctuary that she left sketched, while she enjoys a soothing tea and listens to a bit of music. Blake smiles to herself. _Yes, it doesn't matter_.

Before she leaves the roof, when the cold metal door rests in the palm of her hand, Blake hears Weiss speak.

"She seems normal today," she says.

A chill runs up Blake’s back to the tip of her ears, she closes the door behind her.

 

* * *

 

Blake adjusts the black bow tie on the collar of her shirt, not too tight but not too loose either. She looks at her figure in the mirror of the restaurant dressing room, with the black and white uniform adjusting to the curves of her body as usual, comfortable yet formal. As she gathers her hair in a high ponytail, careful to leave the ears free, Blake sees her golden eyes shimmering with determination in her reflection. Today she’s going to give it all working, she’s going to make this bizarre day end well.

After arriving home and relaxing, focused on her drawings, Blake got rid of the uneasy feeling she had in the morning. She hadn't given it any more thought, and she had put all the missing parts away in a drawer in her mind, labeled ‘too busy to think about this now’. And that's how Blake thought she’d end the day, until...

“Is... is something wrong?”

Just as she closes the fine dressing room door, three employees she works with in the restaurant come up to Blake with pursed lips and narrowed eyes, upset. One is a girl who is usually kind to her, a brunette with wavy chestnut hair outlining her figure and dark almond eyes. Other is a girl Blake’s never spoken to and who's a little older than her, but whenever Blake sees her, she's smiling, faunus ears moving happily on her unkempt blonde head. And the other is a dark-skinned boy who has only been working here for a short time, Blake thinks he's on a temporary contract or something, but he's already made friends with practically all the staff. Except for Blake, of course. Not that he hasn't tried, but she doesn’t need any more friends. Though Blake’s got the feeling that he had to be a kind person.

Yet all three are standing in front of her with angry faces. One crossing her arms, another with her hands resting on her hips, and the boy simply fulminating her with his gaze, the three of them with outraged and annoyed looks.

Blake swallows. The beating of her heart grows heavier, and she mentally unfolds a range of possible things she may have done wrong. Even so, Blake knows that she’s done nothing bad and that her work is simply satisfactory. So she keeps her face neutral and inaccessible. They start talking to her in a threatening voice.

“Blake, you've passed us by,” the brunette says, approaching one step closer to Blake trying to look intimidating.

“What...?” Blake starts, but she can't finish the question.

“Tell us what happened, come on!” The faunus girl taps the ground with the tip of her foot, demanding an answer.

“Girls, I have no idea what you're talking about,” Blake says with a sort of tired voice, raising her hands a little as if she was giving up. _Even at work I can't escape hearing odd things_ , Blake thinks to herself. They're probably mistaking her for someone else. Blake steps forward to pass between them and leave. “Sorry, I don't have time for this kind of stuff.”

Then the boy stands in front of her, cutting Blake off with gleaming green eyes.

“We saw you heading home together yesterday, don't try to deny it!”

Blake freezes, as if an invisible force had glued her feet to the ground, and she slowly raises her sight until his eyes focus on Blake’s again. She feels her pulse speeding up. _Huh? Heading home together? Then..._ The picture of the strange entry she found this morning in her diary slips back into her mind. Blake remembers it mentioning that yesterday Sun walked her to the station after work, but she didn't think that...

“So... Yesterday Sun walked me home?”

Blake says with a string of voice, as if the question wasn't really meant for them but for herself, a warm blush spreading across her cheeks. _Does that mean the diary entry was true? Did everything it says really happen?_ Her head spins and she feels dizzy, thousands of new questions crashing her senses like a tsunami. The boy seems to notice Blake’s confusion and his expression relaxes, changing his anger into discomfort, as if her reaction was not at all what he expected. The girl with the almond eyes, however, moves him away rather abruptly and stands in front of Blake.

“Don't play dumb, what happened next?”

 _What happened next...?_ Blake desperately tries to seek that memory in her mind, but she runs into the most absolute nothing. She tries to imagine the scene – Sun, without the waiter's uniform but with his usual carefree clothes and his half-open shirt, chatting openly and affectionately with Blake on the way home on a lantern-lit road. With a darkened sky dotted with stars lighting up the landscape, Sun's contagious, bright smile ends up dancing on Blake’s lips as well, while her chest shudders pleasantly with the fluttering of butterflies flying in her stomach.

Yesterday Sun walked her home. _Yesterday Sun walked her home_. Blake feels her heart beating shaken, echoing in her ears and sucking in all the other sounds. Her ears have ducked quite a bit, and Blake feels her face burning.

“Truth is… I don't remember anything,” Blake admits, dodging their glances.

“Are you kidding?”

The three of them frown, and Blake could swear she’s seen their eyes light up in flames. They take another step closer, and this time Blake finds herself forced to back up one, almost gluing her back to the fine dressing room door. She considers the option of turning and entering, but running away would solve nothing. _But what can I tell them for them to believe me? It's not like I actually remember what happened yesterday_.

At dizzying speed, ideas intertwine and connect in her mind, building a theory and ordering events. Apparently, and unless all this is an extremely elaborate prank, what it says in her diary entry is true. Blake makes a mental note to reread carefully what it says, she doesn’t want to find any more surprises. This means that yesterday she acted totally out of herself, almost as if Blake was someone else. She can't talk about this with anyone, not even Weiss and Ilia. _They would think I'm crazy_ , Blake thinks to herself. _Even I think I'm crazy_.

Which brings her to the three employees standing in front of her, still looking at her accusatorily and waiting for an answer Blake can't give them. She guesses that these two girls and the boy have a crush in Sun, and as yesterday they apparently came home together – of everything that's going on with her today, this is the most surreal thing. Was Blake really that lucky and she doesn’t remember? – they came for explanations. _That's stupid_.

“Listen. I don't know what you want to hear, but I have nothing to say to you,” Blake shakes her head, gaining her composure and mask of seriousness back. “And I don't understand why you're acting like this. Sun is no one's possession, and while I understand that you may be jealous, cornering anyone related to him this accusatorily is not a good way to deal with them. Least of all getting Sun to notice you.”

Blake says, holding their gaze. Impassive. And just when it looked like they were going to start again with the accusations, a fresh and cheerful voice is heard through the entrance. A familiar warmth runs through Blake’s body in the blink of an eye.

“Hey, guys! I'm back.”

The figure of Sun, cut out by the light of the street that slips through the door, comes in with a bright smile and greets them, cheerfully, with his hand. Unconsciously, Blake holds the air in her lungs, watching how he radiates light through all the pores of his skin as he walks down the corridor in front of them.

“Good morning, girls! And Brian!” Sun says, pointing a finger gun gesture at the boy, who immediately blushes, but the monkey faunus doesn't seem to notice.

“Hello!”

The two girls reply, erasing all traces of anger from their faces, with now sparkling eyes. Before the dazzling presence that radiates the young man, all an idol in their restaurant, for an instant they forgot the discussion that they were having just a few seconds ago. As if the arrival of the faunus had flooded the place with both light and positivity, with no room for negative feelings. Then Sun turns and looks at Blake with a playful smile.

“Lets give it all today again. Right, Blake?”

He tells her with such a sweet and genuine tone that Blake can almost feel the little heart emoji at the end of his sentence. The air collapses in her lungs. Then he winks at her with his distinctive light-hearted air before vanishing through the door. Blake feels the warmth of her chest spread across her cheeks. She notices that her face is impossibly red, like if she had sunk her face in a bathtub of boiling water, and she suddenly feels like polishing all the windows of the restaurant.

“What does all this mean, Blake!”

The once again angry voices of the three workers, with a terrifying echo as if they came from the depths of the Earth, bring Blake back to reality. Like a whirlwind, her mind starts to spin again. There's no way she can doubt that what she put in the journal entry is true, but that triggers an avalanche of unanswered questions to each other more shocking, and she feels like she’s getting sicker. _What's going on? Why don't I remember anything about what happened? What crazy things did I do yesterday without realizing it? What other things that aren't written in the note happened?_

_And what does "Yang" mean?_

 

* * *

 

Beyond the walls of her room, the birds peep with their usual vitality early in the morning. Singing sweet, melodic songs, they almost seem to understand the beauty of their lullabies, and play with each other to create nature's most beautiful sounds. Soft, delicate notes dance in the whirlpools of the light morning breeze, entering through her semi-open window along with the playful rays of light that are lost in the tangles of her hair. The characteristic pristine light of the first moments of dawn bathes her room and floods her senses, even dormant, slumber. The subtle rustling of the oak leaves surrounding the sanctuary mixes in her ears with the peaceful sound of her breath, and she cuddles the pillow. Warm. Soft.

She half-opens her eyes and again finds black shapes blurred on her hand. She sits up, frowning. _Again?_

The letters, written with the black marker that rests on the night table next to her bed, stretch wide and inquiring from the palm of her hand to the height of her elbow.

 

**Yang?? What are you? Who are you??**

Yang blinks and rubs her eyes with her free hand, but then she focuses her gaze again the letters are still there. Questioning, demanding. A chill spreads up her back to the base of her neck. _I know I didn't write that, there's no way_. _And that's not my handwriting_. It's as if someone, somebody else, had come into her room and written that in her skin. _But why?_ Yang gets up and looks around, everything seems to be in order in her room. The books are still on the desk, the clothes are still scattered all over the closet, and the shelf has the same amount of dust as ever. It doesn't look like anything was stolen, and Yang doesn’t think anyone came in either because Grandma would've noticed, for sure. _Ugh, I don't get it. Who's leaving me messages? And what do they mean?_

“What do you have written there?”

Ruby, leaning against the door frame, makes Yang wince.

“Gosh, Rubes!” She exclaims, holding a scream, her heart beating in her throat. “Knock before you come in!”

“Okay, okay,” she says, rolling her eyes with a dull face. “But what does it say?”

She points at Yang’s arm, and she immediately hides it behind her back.

“Nothing!” She shakes her head with an innocent smile. “Just a few things I didn't want to forget in the morning, that's all.”

“Why didn't you write it down on paper? Or on your phone?”

Ruby frowns, as if to say ‘it's the most obvious thing in the world’, and internally Yang agrees with her. She changes the weight from one leg to another, pondering her possible answers.

“Hum...” Yang scratches the back of her head, still smiling. “It's because the arm was the closest thing I got, I suppose.”

“Okay... Weird,” Ruby shrugs her shoulders, deciding it doesn't really matter. “Anyway, breakfast is ready. Come down when you’re ready.”

“Okay, thank you.”

Yang says, but Ruby's already locked the door and she's coming down the stairs. She lets out the air she didn't know she was holding, moving her arm that was hidden behind her back, gazing at the questioning letters again. The black ink shining in the contrast of the light. Yang can't tell this to Ruby or Grandma, they'll think it's another one of her jokes and they won't take her seriously. And she doesn’t know if she should tell Pyrrha and Jaune, they have enough on their plates to deal with the strange things that are happening to Yang lately. Jaune will probably find a multidimensional meaning for all of this, and Pyrrha will worry so much that she'll call Yang every hour to check on her. She sighs, squeezing her arm with the other hand, feeling the pulse run under her skin.

Beyond the window, the birds continue to chirp cheerful and carefree, singing songs that brush with a thousand tones and colors the morning of the people of the village.

Yang’s morning, however, is marked with dark strokes of enigmatic black words. And this is a mystery that she has to solve by herself.

 

* * *

 

“Good morning,” Yang says in a monotone voice, entering the class.

She yawns, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. Just as she walked through the door, she can feel all the glances of her classmates staring straight at her. Usually some people turn when they see Yang come in to greet her, she gets along well with most of the class – except Cardin and his group of _idiots_ , but they don't really get along with anyone –, but they've never _all_ looked at her with the weird expressions they have now. A couple of guys who are sitting on top of their desks next to the door and who had been chatting look at Yang with their mouths making a perfect circle. A small group of girls closer to the blackboard give her sidelong glances, speaking in a low voice to each other. Other boys, leaning against the wall, look at her expectantly. Some more, sitting far away and failing to see the scene, stretch their necks to also direct their eyes towards Yang. And Pyrrha, who had been speaking with a classmate up until a second ago, looks at her with an indecipherable expression.

Ignoring the awkward situation, Yang walks at a steady pace to her desk by the window, but she can't help but hear the chorus of whispers that surrounds her.

“Yesterday Yang was very cool.”

“Today she seems normal.”

“I'm still amazed at how mature she was.”

“Now I see her in a different light.”

“I didn't know she could be so cold and sharp.”

“But didn't you feel like her personality had changed or something?”

When Yang gets to her seat, she turns the chair around and sits in Pyrrha's direction, crossing her arms over the backrest. From the corner of her eye, Yang catches some fugitive glances that are still stuck on her skin. The girl who was talking to her friend has turned around, giving them privacy, and Yang thanks her in her mind. She finds the redhead's green eyes.

“Pyrr, any idea why everyone is looking at me funny?”

One of her usual comfortable smiles is drawn on her face. She starts pulling out books and calmly putting them on the table while she replies to Yang. She follows her movements with her eyes, curious.

“Good morning to you too, Yang,” she says, and a blush spreads over Yang’s cheeks cause she came in talking to her very abruptly without even greeting her, but Pyrrha was probably just teasing. The tone of her voice is as calm as ever. ‘Isn't it obvious?’ it seems to say. “Well, after yesterday's scene it's only natural.”

“Yesterday's scene?”

Yang tilts her head. _What happened yesterday?_ She tries to remember, navigating through the mist that has settled in her mind and that lately covers her memories. At this point it hardly surprises her that she can't remember what she did yesterday, but Yang would swear it was a normal day like any other. Still, she can't help but feel a cold chill running down her back like an ice claw. She unconsciously squeezes her arm, hidden between the back of the chair and her body. Despite having wiped them out after she got out of bed, Yang’s skin still holds the ghost of ink letters.

“Yes,” Pyrrha nods vehemently, some locks escaping from her perfect, copper-colored ponytail and contouring her face. “I mean, what happened at drawing class.”

“What happened at drawing class?” Yang pretends to be relaxed, but she can almost taste the fear in her voice. She just hopes her friend doesn't notice.

“With Cardin, don't you remember?”

Pyrrha frowns so strongly that small, worried creases grow between her eyebrows. Hearing Cardin's name makes Yang stop hearing the little sounds and whispers that wrap them up in class, and the whole world is compressed into a single thought. _But... what stupid thing have I done now?_ She asks herself, clenching her fists to lock up the frustration she feels. Her friend's green eyes glow with both strangeness and worry. Yang shakes her head.

“You really don't remember?”

 

* * *

 

Jaune waits for them to have lunch sitting on the stone benches in the farthest part of the courtyard. They like this place especially because it's the spot of the school that has the best views, considering that in this city there isn't much to see. Yang extends the line of sight to the houses that look teeny tiny down there. The lake Patch bathes the landscape with its soft blue shades, reflecting the sky as if instead of water there was a huge mirror in the middle of the village. Above them, some swallows hover happily. And Yang’s thoughts fly with them.

At least until Jaune starts talking, with a mocking tone coloring his words that brings her back to real life.

“Are you okay today, Yang?”

“Not you too, please,” Yang implores, clasping her hands together with a gesture of prayer. She’s quite tired of not knowing what's going on in her own life. _It would be nice if people would stop reminding me!_

Jaune, who had expected Yang to brush it off without further fuss as she normally would, purses his lips and looks at Pyrrha, who has been silent since they have arrived.

“Is something wrong?” He asks, the worry in his voice moves Yang for a second.

“Yang doesn't seem to remember about yesterday,” Pyrrha says with a sigh, sitting beside her, as if everything that is happening weighs as much on her as it weighs on Yang.

“Again?” Jaune mocks.

Forgetting all the affection of a moment ago, Yang gives the blond a murderous, crimson-colored look. Jaune ignores her and goes on talking nonchalantly, nibbling on his tuna sandwich.

“I still think it's possible that – “

“If you talk about parallel universes again,” Yang’s voice sounds guttural, threatening, even though it's a promise she knows she won't keep. “I'll send you to the lake with one punch.”

“Whoa, you don't have to be so harsh,” Jaune raises his hands in a sign of peace with his blue eyes wide open. He shrugs his shoulders. “I'm just saying it's a possibility. Do you have a better idea?”

“No,” Yang admits, releasing the air from her lungs and deflating like a balloon. She crosses both legs on the seat and plays with her shoelaces. _There has to be a logical explanation_ , she thinks to herself. _Maybe I should go to Grandma Calavera?_ Her head is a vortex of nonsense and anxiety, and the letters that dwelled in her skin this morning come at her again. _Who are you?_

“Leave her alone, Jaune,” Pyrrha, as nice as ever, decides to give her a hand. “There must be another reason why she doesn't remember what happened.”

“Maybe it was so strong for her that she entered a shocked state,” he says. “It would've happened to me.”

Jaune brings his hands to his head and pretends there's an explosion in it, making funny noises with his mouth. Pyrrha doesn't smile this time, her green eyes glow oddly. Both turn their attention to Yang. She groans.

“Can anyone please tell me what happened yesterday?!” Finally, Yang asks the question that has been twisting her heart since she arrived at class this morning.

“Sorry,” Pyrrha gives her a low-key look with an apologetic smile, and starts talking. “So, it was yesterday during the artistic drawing period, when we were practicing sketches of dead nature.”

“You two were lucky, you ended up in the same group,” Jaune crosses his arms with an angry face as if he were five years old. “I had to be with Cinder, I really can’t stand her.”

“Anyway,” Pyrrha goes on, making deaf ears to Jaune’s interruption. “Goodwitch told us we had to draw a vase and some apples that were placed on a desk in the middle of class.”

“A very ugly drawing, by the way,” Jaune talks again. Yang rolls her eyes, but the boy doesn't seem to notice, or maybe he ignores her. “And knowing how bad I'm at drawing, Cinder was messing with me the whole time.”

“When Goodwitch walked out of the classroom and left us alone,” the redhead glances sidelong at Jaune, as if making sure he doesn't interrupt the story any more, and then focuses her gaze back on Yang. “You turned your desk in the opposite direction to the vase and started to draw the landscape of the village that could be seen through the window.”

“Truth is, it was really great!” Jaune nearly jumps, his blue eyes glowing like stars. “When did you learn to draw like that, huh?”

“It was very nice, indeed,” Pyrrha says, nodding slightly. Her expression grows a little gloomier. “But then Cardin and his friends started with their usual nonsense.”

“You know they're idiots,” Jaune shakes his head in frustration. Yang can still remember his white knuckles as he grabbed the bike the other day. “They were whispering, but too loud to be a whisper. Obviously they wanted you to hear about it. Jerks.”

“What did they say?” Yang asks, and she almost doesn’t want to hear the answer. Pyrrha sits back in her seat, uncomfortable.

“The usual,” she shrugs. Somehow, Yang feels that she doesn't want her to ask any more questions and that makes her more worried. “... the municipal elections and stuff.”

“They said things like, ‘Raven can be a good mayoress, but she's very scary’,” Jaune explains, imitating Cardin and his bunch of idiots with silly voices and making the gesture of quotation marks in the air with his fingers. “’She's at least got a decent job, but her daughter is sure to be a Nobody’, ‘she sure takes advantage of being mayor and steals all the money that comes her way’, ‘some people on this class live off that stolen money’, ‘oh, that's right, she was abandoned when she was little’, and that kind of bullshit.”

By the time Jaune’s voice fades, Yang finds herself looking at the ground. That anxiety that had climbed up her back this morning like a frozen claw has now spread to her very heart and it’s clutching it with an icy, deadly grip. It wasn't out of the blue for Cardin and his bunch of assholes to mess with Yang. They picked on most people in the class, sure, so she’s no exception. And after seeing them show up at the sanctuary, Yang knew they wouldn't stay quiet. _Still..._ Yang clenches her fists hard. If she wanted to, she could face them all and shut their mouths, but Grandma raised her better than that. Yang can't disappoint her like this, getting into fights. She doesn’t want to be that kind of example for Ruby. Yang imagines the smiles of self-sufficiency growing through their faces with each teasing, their pride getting bigger with each sarcasm they give out, and she gets nauseous. _At least_ , Yang thinks to herself as her only comfort, _I alone have to put up with this. At least Ruby is out of the picture._

“Yang...”

Yang feels Pyrrha's hand resting on hers. _Fuck, I zoned out again_. She raises her head and finds a pair of sympathetic eyes fixed on her. Faking an indifferent voice, Yang dares to ask.

“And what did I do?”

Pyrrha crosses an indecipherable look with Jaune, pursing her lips. Then she looks at Yang again, taking her hand away and resting it on her lap with her usual aura of serenity. Yang’s heart races.

“You asked me if they were talking about you,” she says. “I told you I thought so, I wasn't going to lie to you.”

“And then you turned around, you kicked the table so hard that it threw the vase to the floor and broke it, and the class went completely silent!”

Jaune suddenly shouts, totally breaking the atmosphere of mystery and heaviness that had settled into their conversation. Yang blinks once, twice. _What?_ She knows that sometimes she can be a brute, she admits it. And that she’s loud and it's hard for her to keep her emotions down. But Yang’s never broken anything in class or stood up to anyone in the middle of school, _let alone Cardin!_ She guesses she looks shocked, because Pyrrha looks at her and nods, as if to say, ‘I know, I couldn't believe it either’.

“And then what?” Yang dares to ask, and she’s struck by a wave of thrill – more, if possible – when she sees a grin climbing up Jaune's face.

“Then you stood in front of Cardin's table with a smile,” Pyrrha continues, focusing her gaze beyond Jaune and Yang, as if reliving what had happened. Yang tries to imagine the scene in her mind too. “And you started to tell him about the big role that the institution of the city council has in towns, and how thanks to the work of the mayoress, people like his parents could have a job that would sustain them.”

Yang frowns, wrinkling her eyebrows. She thought she would've given him a bunch of barbaric things, not a lecture on how critical Yang’s mother's job is. In fact, she can't picture herself defending Raven in any context. _This is getting more and more weird_.

“You talked about a lot of government business that I had no idea what you were saying, and I'm sure no one in the class understood a word either,” Jaune admits, dropping his head a little, with a funny smile. He raises his fist as a sign of victory. “But you also hauled that asshole over the coals!”

 _Government business, me? I don't know anything about that!_ The air becomes heavy in Yang’s lungs.

“If I remember right,” Pyrrha goes on, doing her best to remember Yang’s words with a focused expression. “You said something down the lines of ‘projecting the frustration you feel about your own life towards another person and focusing your efforts on making life impossible for them is not only a reflection that you are using a crappy defense mechanism that can only end up plunging you deeper into your own misery, but it also shows what a despicable person you really are and how sad your reality is. While you're too obsessed with sinking others, you don't realize that it's really your own life that's slipping out of your hands, and if you keep doing that you'll be the one who's a Nobody. I don't know who has it worse, Cardin’. More or less that’s what you said.”

“And then you broke his dead nature drawing right under his nose!”

Jaune shouts, victorious, almost getting up from his seat in excitement. Pyrrha smiles warmly. Yang’s mouth opens wide. _Did I say that?_ She imagines the crimson in her gaze turning into a pale and collected lilac, saying those words in an icy voice in front of a speechless Cardin. And she gets the feeling that it's not her at all. A knot in her throat traps the air that tries to come out.

“We all fell silent,” Pyrrha adds. “Cardin the more so.”

“It was amazing!”

The voices of her friends sound distant, muffled, as if a thick cloud were blocking Yang’s ears. Ears, sight, senses, everything. Her entangled thoughts escape through her fingers, desperate to put together a consistent idea within the confusion. Yang’s heart bursts, roars, erupts. Violent as a volcano. But instead of lava, a single truth is heard in the drizzle inside her and slips through her veins leaving a frozen trace.

“That can't be me.”

 

* * *

 

At the end of the school day, Yang heads home at a speed that is enviable, no natural disaster strong enough to stop her. Pale. The windows bring her reflection back down the street and she is pale, as if she had seen a ghost. Or, perhaps, Yang is the ghost. At this point any thought is valid in her panicked mind.

When she gets home, Yang opens the front door with trembling hands and passes by Ruby and Grandma, who drink tea quietly in the living room. She climbs the steps two by two, her heart beating louder in her ears and suffocating all the other sounds. In her head, a single thought extends to the edges where her mind meets the absolute nothing, where she has locked up yesterday's memories. _Who are you?_ Those dark letters that have weighed on Yang all day like a steel necklace around her neck, drowning her more and more in insecurity.

She closes the door of the room with a loud thud, praying internally that neither Grandma nor Ruby will come up. With trembling hands, and a bunch of stubborn locks of hair slipping away from the orange ribbon that stands as it can on her head, Yang frantically sifts through the papers on the desk until she finds it. Her notebook of classical literature.

A weak, shaky sigh escapes her lips, suddenly too dry. She closes and opens her fists several times, trying to get rid of these nerves that keep pouring out. The sticker of a corgi dog looks back at her from the notebook, expectant, resting on the table waiting to be opened. Waiting for someone to read again the black ink strokes it keeps within its clean pages. Guided by an impulse, Yang opens it.

Notes. Notes. Notes. Yang turns one page and another in a hurry, not caring if she bends the corners, until she finds it and she stops dead. The page with the text " **Who are you?** " is still there. The delicate but sharp handwriting, nervous, hasn't changed at all. Yang takes a breath, as if waiting for it to give her some strength, and she turns the page.

A sudden cold shiver shakes her body like lightning, from the tip of her feet to the last hair on her head. Ruthlessly, stuffing all the voids of Yang’s body with an ancient, merciless emotion. _Fear_.

The following page, and the next, and the next, are full of things written in the same handwriting. Delicate, almost cursive, but impatient, alarmed. In the middle, the words " **Yang Xiao Long** " appear rather large, and they’re surrounded by endless comments about her personal life, full of question marks and doodles of village buildings, like the entrance to the sanctuary or the houses that border the lake.

 

**Last year of high school, Class 3.**

**Jaune (Boy. Friend. Seems like a nice person, but somewhat simple. Same age, but never had a relationship. He likes multidimensional theories. He doesn't have good grades. He would get along well with Ilia. Crush on Pyrrha).**

**Pyrrha (Girl. Friend. She's beautiful. Kind and affectionate but excessively good person. Top of her class. Very mature. Gorgeous. She's the sweet version of Weiss. Crush on Jaune, very evident).**

**She lives with her grandmother (Older lady. She's tough but she loves them. Braided strings?) and her little sister Ruby (She likes cookies. She's too enthusiastic and noisy. She wears a cloak all the time).**

**A town lost in the middle of nowhere, Patch. Bad internet connection. There are no cafes, bars, cinemas, theatres or bowling alleys. What do people do for fun?**

**I believe her mother is the mayoress. Raven. Her eyes are scary.**

**Is she a priestess?**

**It seems that her father died.**

**Summer?**

**Few friends.**

**Her school is too simple.**

**Her hair is too complicated.**

Over a pencil drawing of the huge red arch of the sanctuary something is written in larger letters and surrounded by a circle.

" **Is this your life?** "

Still with shaky and cold hands, Yang turns the pages and finds more written things. Some scenes start to pop up in her head. Unrelated sights, fragments of something bigger, pieces of a puzzle that she can't sort out. Like someone who has forgotten about a dream when waking up, but suddenly something makes those memories reappear on the memory surface. As if a mist started to vanish from her mind, for the first time in a week.

Yang remembers the Atlas landscape, the huge skyscrapers caressing the tops of the clouds and mirroring the brightness of the sun in their clear windows, the streets flowing with life and how each moment smelled of something special. She remembers a cafeteria, an absorbing murmur, the leather touch of the menu and the taste of celestial pancakes. Yang remembers an Italian restaurant, the bubbling anxiety in her chest hearing her name over and over again in the mouths of strangers, the smell of pizza and the dim light of the spider lamps. She remembers some girls, some friends, their familiar voices echoing in her ears, her _other_ ears. Yang remembers the way back home walking with someone, and his warm, scraped voice radiating closeness, comfort. Yang remembers...

A reflection on the window of a train. A girl. Wild golden eyes.

“Is it possible...?” She whispers to herself with a string of voice, so light and weak that it dies as soon as it comes out of her lips. “This would mean that...”

 

* * *

 

“If what I'm thinking is true...” the words sound thick in her mouth, refusing to come out. “Is it possible that we really are...?”

Dazed and confused, as soon as Blake got home from high school she locked herself in her room, making sure that her parents are out and that they're not going to check on her. Sitting at her desk, papers and sketches scattered around the table in front of her, all Blake can see now is her phone screen. Frenetically she goes by with her index finger one by one the entries of her diary app, eyes wide open and no blinking. In between the neat and simple purple entries that Blake has written about her day-to-day life, there are a handful of other entries of a bright yellow color that she doesn’t recognize, full of smiley faces, narrating with enthusiasm and passion completely opposed to Blake events that her brain can't remember. Blake feels the room shrinking, everything collapsing around her while she can't take her eyes off more and more entries that she finds.

**(Wednesday 3, 23:13 pm) First time in Anima and Mistral, discovering lots of beautiful flowers!**

**(Friday 12, 20:32 pm) With the girls at the Kuroyuri aquarium (+ secret photos I took of Weiss and Ilia).**

**(Saturday 20, 21:06 pm) Shopping in Argus!**

**(Monday 22, 22:12 pm) Faunus History Exam (sorry Blake).**

**(Thursday 25, 19:51 pm) My life in Atlas part 6.**

**(Friday 3, 23:47 pm) Visiting the father's office in Menagerie!**

Some part of her brain comes to an impossible conclusion. _No. No, it can't be_. Blake repeats to herself as she wipes the cold sweat from her hands on her pants. _It has to be something else_. She tells herself as she pours freezing water on her face in the bathroom sink, fighting the nerves that flutter through her veins like burning lava. It's impossible. _It's impossible_. The thought runs, bounces, flies, vanishes, fades, and finds Blake again, as she runs her fingers through her hair nervously, looking at her distressed reflection in the mirror.

_Don't tell me that..._

_In our dreams, this girl and I..._

 

* * *

 

Yang wanders around the room in circles, circles, circles. Spinning as many times as the ideas that swirl in her mind. They tell her that she’s wrong, that it can't be. They tell her that she’s right, that there's no other explanation. That she’s going crazy. That it makes sense. That she should flee, run away, hide. That she should seek someone out and tell them. While Yang just wants to scream.

_Because if it's true..._

_While I dream, that girl and I..._

 

* * *

 

The reflection shows her golden eyes.

The violet of her irises is scattered in the mirror.

Her thoughts spin, stir, crash, shatter and meet again. In the hurricane of her life, only one idea remains standing, stable, impassive.

_This girl and I are exchanging each other's bodies._

 

* * *

 

_The sunrise glowing among the mountains, graceful and warm, full of good news. The rays of light that one by one enlighten the little houses of the village next to the lake, that wake up lazily before calmly starting out a new day devoid of surprises. The melodic morning song of the birds that flutter every day in the window, the silence of noon drowned by the rustle of the wind on the fallen leaves, the relaxing sound of the insect choir at night, the magical jingle of the starlit sky above my head._

 

The daybreak bursting out between the skyscrapers, bright and gleaming, full of energy. The rays of light that cast light one by one on the countless windows of each and every one of the thousands of people who live in this vast city. The morning crowd flooding the streets, the neighborhoods, the bars, the parks, the city with life. The hustle and bustle of midday with the tired voices of the people who return home hungry to eat, the smell of life and hundreds of experiences during the sunset that bathes the high-rise buildings with orange light. The glow of the city at night, the city of stars.

 

_No matter how many times we've lived through it, both her and I are fascinated again and again by each and every one of those moments._

 

And finally, after the initial panic and insecurity, we both start to understand what's going on. Or at least accept it.

Blake Belladonna, or Blake, is a high school girl my age who lives in Atlas. She's a faunus, with cat ears that require more care than I would've expected. She has two nice friends, Weiss and Ilia, lovely parents, Ghira and Kali, and even if it isn't perfect, she has a dream life...

 

_...While Yang Xiao Long is a country girl. Living with her grandmother and sister, her life is not exciting other than the evenings she may spend with Pyrrha and Jaune or the times she has to help out the Sanctuary of the God of Creation._

_We've learnt that the body change takes place randomly without us being able to intervene, a couple of times a week, and without prior notice. It's triggered when we sleep and the cause, though we've tried our best to find it, is still a mystery._

 

It's not like we have a choice at all. And on top of that, the memories of the change of bodies vanish the next day. At first we totally forgot about them, like a dreamer who wakes up and the memories disappear forever. Now, they turn somewhat vague and inaccurate after waking up the next day, leaving me slightly out of place as if I really had doubts about what actually happened, with messy snippets from the previous day.

 

_But even though I sometimes don't clearly remember what I did as Yang and it just seems like a dream, I'm convinced that the body change is real. We only have to see the reactions of the people around us, when they say that we act weird and tell us in shock what we did the day before. It's the ultimate proof._

Thanks to the Gods, from the moment we realized what was happening to us, that we were exchanging bodies, little by little we've gradually managed to remember the dreams more. They were no longer so disrupted, detached, and doubtful as before. Though it's true that I don't remember everything, I know that they aren't just dreams, they've really happened. For example, now, while I am awake, I know that right now, somewhere in Atlas lives a girl named Blake, and I can describe how her nose wrinkles when she gets angry or how her fangs look when she laughs out loud.

 

_Now I'm completely convinced that there's a girl named Yang, with a chaotic blonde mane so bright that it defies the sun itself, who lives in a remote village in the middle of nowhere, where a huge, peaceful lake mirrors the sky. The motives and logic of the situation, how is it physically possible that something like this is happening, slip away from me. But, strange as it might seem, deep down in my heart I know that this is true, that this is real and that she exists._

 

That's how Blake and I have started to reach each other by leaving out messages on our phones, whether it's in her diary app or Blake’s of notes, about the days we changed bodies. We tell each other everything we've done, the relevant things that have taken place, and things like that. So that the other knows what happened before a family member or friend has to tell us. We also try to act like the other, but it's hard to behave the exact opposite of how you usually are. Especially for me, I admit it. Blake is too serious!

 

_Both Yang and I have tried to talk by text or call each other several times, but, oddly enough, none of these things work and we've found it impossible. In the end, it had to be enough just to leave messages, no matter how much I'd like to tell her first-hand what she can and can't do. And since we both know that the most important thing is to keep our lifestyles unharmed, we've started to set rules for each other._

**< For Blake: Prohibition List, No.1>**

**You’re not allowed to talk about laws, ethics, institutions, politics, society, architecture, and any of those extremely intelligent and nerdy things you know. Have a little thought about me, I have no idea about any of that!**

**Don't fight back or stand up against Cardin. Trust me, it's not worth it. He's an idiot.**

**Cheer up a bit! I'm not as serious as you are and my friends will notice it, you could use a little joy once in a while. Try to smile! Have you thought about making puns?**

**Stay romantically out of the way of Pyrrha and Jaune. And if you do meddle in, then help them realize that they have feelings for one another. But don't overwhelm them either, it's something they have to realize themselves when the time comes.**

**Do not touch my hair! I mean it. I take special care of it and I treat it with great respect. Don't even think about ruining it. Just, make yourself a ponytail or something.**

**Under no circumstances can you talk to Raven.**

**Don't ask about Summer, please. Especially not Ruby.**

**< For Yang: Prohibition List, Version 5>**

**Please, I'd appreciate it if you'd stop wasting my money on stupid things.**

**Learn your way to school and work already, it's not that hard. I've saved in favorites both routes in Google Maps. I'm starting to think it's not that you don't know the way, it's that you get distracted and end up being late...**

**Don't be so buddy-buddy with my parents. I don't know what relationship you had with yours, but for me there's a fine line between what I share with my parents and what I share with, for example, my friends.**

**Be careful with the accent. I've been living in Atlas all my life, it's impossible for me to have an accent, remember that.**

**Careful with Weiss! She's already started to get suspicious and has an eye on me every time I look at her. She's an exceptional friend but she's also very perceptive. Don't let her discover you!**

**Don't play with my ears. In fact, don't touch them at all, you don't have to. They're more delicate and intimate than you think.**

**It seems difficult for you to contain your emotions, but remember that I am _not_ an explosion of walking enthusiasm. Is it so hard for you to be a little more calm and private?**

**Have you said anything funny to Ilia? Lately she's behaving awkwardly towards me, she keeps on talking and she blushes a lot. Please be careful, she's sensitive.**

**And for God's sake, don't get so close to Sun!**

 

_We're trying to work as a team to cope with this bizarre phenomenon. Still, today I can't help but sigh in frustration as I read Yang's entry in my diary. I pinch the bridge of my nose, in exasperation, wondering for the umpteenth time if this girl has read the rules I left written for her, or if she's even trying to pretend to be me. It seems that she's only interested in enjoying the freedom she doesn't have in Patch. I do respect that, but she could try not to turn my life upside down so often. Yang could be more responsible._

 

When I read Blake's notes, more than a memo telling me what happened the day before, it looks like she wrote a police article or a report to me. I read it over breakfast, having the coffee Grandma makes in the mornings, and I feel something in my stomach swirling. I know she's trying, but it's like she's not interested enough to really care. I sigh, and think of 101 ways to show the world that I'm still me and not a serious Atlas girl in my body. Blake could be more carefree!

 

**Yang to Blake, via diary (Tuesday 4, 21:34 pm)**

Why did you do so well in the school's modern literature contest? You know that's not like me! The teachers keep stopping me in the corridors congratulating me on the victory, now they want me to join the next one! Even Pyrrha was impressed. Pyrrha! She asked me to lend her the books I've read and to discuss with her the modern currents of contemporary poems next time. How am I supposed to fix this?!

 

**Blake to Yang, via phone notes (Thursday 6, 13:12 pm)**

_Yang, I thought I made it clear enough that you're not allowed to waste my money on food. You've been to that cafeteria so many times that when I walked through the door this morning I was greeted by my name and asked if I wanted 'the usual'. You leave me the gallery full of pictures of food. Besides, with all the sugar you're taking, now I have to do twice as much work out to burn everything. Have a little consideration and responsibility with your actions._

**Yang to Blake, via diary (Sunday 9, 20:44 pm)**

Technically, it's your body that eats them so that's consideration! And I'm also earning money at the restaurant, which is still as bad as the first day. Speaking of, you put in too many hours! I have no time left to go out and have fun! Don't you have a life outside of school and work? With all the cool stuff there is to do in Atlas, and you’re wasting your youth working all day. Well, I've planned a lot of fun stuff for the next few weeks for Weiss, Ilia and I, and they said they sounded great (they looked at me a little weird, but it's going to be awesome anyways!).

 

**Blake to Yang, via phone notes (Wednesday 12, 22:03 pm)**

_No way, that’s not happening! Weiss suspects me enough, don't give her any more reasons! Honestly, you don't seem to think things over before you do them, do you? And secondly, how do you expect me to do these braids with your grandma? I've never had to sew, stitch, or knit before in my life. I suppose it can't be that complicated, but I'd rather not have to. Can't she give you a few days off or something? And stop having fun at my expense, Yang!_

****

**Yang to Blake, via diary (Friday 14, 19:55 pm)**

Come on, you're the most interesting thing that's happened to me in years. You know how boring this place in the middle of nowhere can be. Don't be so strict and let me have some fun! When it comes to braiding, you gotta learn how to make them as soon as possible! And hey, what's that about a cafeteria you're building with Jaune there?

****

**Blake to Yang, via phone notes (Monday 17, 20:31 pm)**

_I'm not stopping you from having fun, but don't use my life as an excuse. Keep in mind that you are still me, you have obligations and goals to achieve. You can do fun things, but remember it's my life, not yours. Don't take advantage of being me!_

****

**Yang to Blake, via diary (Thursday 20, 23:12 pm)**

I'm not doing that! Look, actually, thanks to my feminine and sweet charms I'm making Sun start crushing on you. I'm doing this for your own good! In fact, today, after work, Sun and I went out for a drink. I wanted to invite him, but he ended up paying for it. And then he goes and says "You'll invite me when you graduate from high school, huh?"! "I promise" I replied, acting cool. The two of you are going smoothly. And it's all because of me. You'll thank me later ;)

 

**Blake to Yang, via phone notes (Saturday 22, 19:15 pm)**

_I believe I said you weren’t allowed to get so close to Sun! Stop messing with my personal life, Yang! My crushes and relationships are mine, do I meddle with yours?_

 

**Yang to Blake, via diary (Tuesday 25, 20:21 pm)**

Hey Blake! What's this love letter I received!? Can you explain to me why some girl I don't even know has asked me out!? And then you go and tell her you'll think about it! Are you crazy!? What happened that you didn't tell me!?

**Blake to Yang, via phone notes (Thursday 27, 19:53 pm)**

_Let's see if the next time you go over to Sun you remember this. But for the record, I didn't do anything special. That girl from one grade below us came up to me for help with classical literature and I spent the whole afternoon in the high school building teaching her about it. We actually had a good time, she's nice, and pretty cute. She seems to be looking for something more, who am I to break her heart?_

 

**Yang to Blake, via diary (Sunday 30, 19:07 pm)**

Don't be so full of yourself, Blake! You don't even have that Someone Special!

 

**Blake to Yang, via phone notes (Tuesday 2, 23:09 pm)**

_And neither do you. You're not the one to speak, Yang._

 

**Yang to Blake, via diary (Friday 5, 22:22 pm)**

You're wrong, Blake...! It's not that I don't have someone, it's that I don't want to have one! You're an idiot!

 

**Blake to Yang, via phone notes (Sunday 7, 19:47 pm)**

_Why did I wake up with the word 'idiot' on my cheek? How childish can you be? If this is what you want, then let's see if tomorrow it's you who has 'idiot' written all over your face...!_


	8. Bonds that we create and those that tie us together

The sound of Yang's alarm bounces in the room, an insistent, rhythmic little bell that urges Blake to wake up. She does, reluctantly. More sounds start to reach her ears. The joyful singing of some birds beyond the window. The lazy rustle of the leaves of the trees. And, more than anything else, what she notices is the absence of sounds. In Atlas, as it's a big city and as Blake lives in the heart of it, every morning when she wakes up she finds hundreds of sounds together playing in unison and making a noise that's constantly there at the back of her mind, relentless. Yet here she can only hear peace, serenity and silence. It's comforting.

 _I’m having a village day today_ , Blake thinks to herself, and she feels less and less bothered by this idea each time Yang and her swap. Village life means that Blake won't have to give her best in school, that she doesn’t have to work in the afternoon in the restaurant and that she can enjoy the outdoors and nature for a few hours. To be honest, Blake often scolds Yang and tells her not to take advantage of her life or of being in her body, but she also secretly enjoys her peaceful lifestyle more each day. Though this is something Blake won't admit to her, of course. Don't get her wrong, she loves her life and she wouldn't trade it for Yang's, but she does like that thanks to her, Blake can disconnect from time to time. There’s a fundamental difference between Yang and her though, and it is that Yang simply enjoys and experiences being in Blake’s body, while Blake also cares a little about improving Yang's own life while she’s her. In fact, Jaune and Blake have started after class to build a small cafeteria for him, Pyrrha and her – well, for Yang – which is already pretty far advanced. As peaceful as this life is, the truth is that Blake has several things to look forward to.

Still in bed, she decides to get up and start the day at last, before Ruby comes in through the door to wake her up being her usual mess of excitement and enthusiasm so early in the morning. At first Blake didn't see any similarities between the sisters, but after getting to know her a little, it's clear that this cheerful and lively girl is Yang's little sister.

Blake blinks once, twice, trying to make the drowsiness that still weighs on her eyelids disappear. She rubs her eyes, and when she opens them again, she looks down. Even though at this point she’s seen Yang's body many times, Blake doesn’t think she will ever stop being fascinated when she finds herself in it, having it so close, so different from hers. Waterfalls of wavy hair shining like the sun scatter like molten gold over her pajamas, consisting only of an orange top and some shorts. Undulating, entangling and unraveling like the threads her grandmother has tried so hard to teach Blake, her mane is as loose and free as every morning, as untamable as the girl they belong to. So rebellious on the outside, but so delicate to the touch. A fleeting thought crosses Blake’s mind and she wonders if Yang will be the same, indomitable on the outside but soft on the inside, and she imagines herself caressing her skin with her own hands. _I don't know why I thought of that_. Blake tries to get the idea out of her mind, but she can't help but feel a pleasant warm sensation spreading through her cheeks, like a wave tempered by the sun hitting the rocks on the shore. As guided by this warmth, Blake focuses her attention below. Between the fine orange fabric top and the shorts of the same color, Yang's white skin, slightly lighter than Blake’s despite being in the countryside, shows her firm abdominals. She’s been in her body quite a few times already and practically knows it all by heart, _but... for some reason..._

Blake raises a hand slowly. _Will they be as firm as they look? As soft as they look?_ Blake’s heart beats faster, pounding like a drum in her ears, in her temples. Technically, this is her body today, Blake thinks to herself – there's no problem with her touching it, right? Blake’s fingertips tremble as her hand approaches. _I mean, it's not like I'm touching Yang. I have no interest in Yang in that way. Just..._

Finally, her fingertips reach the surface of the skin, and Blake feels her face burn. Even the air thickens in her lungs, wanting to slow down time. Seconds turn to minutes, minutes to hours, hours to bits of eternity, and Blake’s fingers trace silhouettes bordering the surface of the toned muscles that tighten and relax under her own touch. Soft. Warm. Safe. Her touch goes beyond what Blake thought at first. Firm but delicate. Strong but sensitive. The thought sneaks back into her mind, suddenly and uninvited, unconscious, but this time she doesn’t try to push it away so badly. _What will it be like to caress Yang's skin with my own hands...?_

Just then, the door opens with a thud, and a dark head appears with eyebrows arched over big silver eyes.

“Admiring your abs, Yang?”

Her voice is playful and amusing, not accusatory as Blake might’ve expected. Still, she places her hands aside and covers herself with the sheet up to her chin in a lightning-fast motion. If Blake thought her face burned before, now she must have it almost literally in flames, near the color of Ruby's cloak. If she had her faunus ears in this body, they’d surely be red even under the fine fur. Blake’s throat has decided to close and let pass only the air necessary to survive. Even so, she makes an effort to articulate a word.

“No!” Blake tastes the shame on the tip of her tongue. “I wasn't... admiring anything...”

“Yeah, sure you weren't,” Ruby sticks out her tongue, still with a funny pitch in her voice, no malice at all. “Anyway, breakfast is ready. Grandma says you should come down.”

“Okay,” Blake manages to speak without her voice shaking, she’s almost proud of herself. “I'll be right down.”

Ruby nods and disappears behind the door, closing it gently. Blake hears her jumping down the stairs until she loses the sound of her footsteps. Only then does she uncover herself again and takes a long sigh, releasing all the air that was trapped in her lungs to the point where they had started to hurt, still with a racing heart. _Really, what's gotten into me? I'm not like this._

Blake jumps off the bed and stretches, making several bones pop. She gets the uniform that's folded on the desk and heads for the bathroom. Just before going out the door, with the corner of her eye she sees her reflection – Yang's reflection – in the large mirror that's in her room. But instead of stopping as she would normally have done, Blake shakes her head and disappears behind the door, walking in the house with her cheeks still warm.

_No, I've had enough conflicting feelings for the whole day. Looking at those violet eyes would only confuse my head more._

 

* * *

 

“The Tiamat comet will be visible from Earth within a few days. When and where can we see it? “

Already with the uniform well fitted, the ribbon properly placed on the chest and the untamable blond mane collected in a high ponytail – because she remembers that Yang told her not to touch it more than necessary. _What a strange girl, it's not as if I'd do anything bad to it. I'm not as careless or impulsive as she is. But she asked me to, so I have to respect her_ –, Blake goes down to the living room. There's Ruby and Grandma Calavera quietly having breakfast – a couple of toasts and the jasmine tea that Grandma makes every morning. They're silently watching television. With curiosity, Blake leans against the doorframe and focuses on the VTV girl that's talking.

Under big white lettering that says <<The Tiamat comet reaches its perigee>>>, two hostesses explain the position of the comet on a drawing that shows its route, with dates that mark the location it will have at any given moment. With a stick that ends in a small star, one of them explains what its movements will be and at what moment it will be better visible for them. Her high-pitched voice is the only thing that's heard in the room, along with Ruby's chewing noises.

“The Tiamat comet moves from east to west as if following the movement of the sun, so it will be visible above Venus right after sunset in a few days.”

“Why are you wearing your uniform?”

Ruby asks her with a raised eyebrow, leaving the glass on the table as if it were the strangest thing Blake could've done. Grandma Calavera looks at her with the corner of her eye, not diverting her gaze from the jasmine tea. Still leaning against the doorframe, Blake frowns, confused. _Today is Tuesday, aren't we supposed to have classes?_

* * *

 

The soft, relaxing sound of water flowing slowly through the river fills Blake’s senses. Shaping in small currents, the water plays among the rocks – sliding through them, rolling them, smoothing their surface, splashing the earth beyond the edges of the river, mixing with other streams, and reflecting like a crystalline and pristine mirror the lights that filter through the leaves of the trees, that sway gently over their heads. Some of these leaves are lifted by the breeze and they float, swing, hover over small currents of air until they rest in the river making small circles around them, then disappear and vanish. The leaves are carried like tiny boats adrift along the playful streams of water that flow naturally following the paths that surround them. Under their crystal-clear depths, the smooth rocks gleam with the brightness of the sun, and the red and brown autumn leaves join their course.

Around them, several hundred large trees like tall buildings, color the landscape in shades of red, crimson, brown, yellow and orange. Autumn is vivid in everything Blake sees. In the chestnut and imposing trees that dot her field of vision. In each leaf that comes off them. In every river that sounds. In every squirrel, bird and even deer that has crossed with curiosity in their way. In each creak of the leaves under her feet. Autumn is alive in every inch of this picture, of this village, of this mountain, of every step she advances, of every breath she takes. Never in all her years of life had she seen such a beautiful place, such a magnificent view, so natural, so wild but at the same time so balanced, so alive. Blake has lived many fall days, but none of them fit so perfectly with the word as this one. The Atlas autumn trees, dull and with the branches cut symmetrically by the town hall, have nothing to do with the imposing, wild and free trees of bright red and brown colors that wrap around them. The smell of dry leaves, of rain, of daylight, of fields, of nature, seeps through her nostrils, flooding Blake from inside, inviting her to let herself be filled by this landscape, by this life, by this feeling of familiarity and closeness that she had never experienced before.

The adventurous rays of the sun slipping through the treetops leave flashes in the rivers and bright patches on the path they’re following. Shining over Ruby and Grandma Calavera, the light pulls up silvery sparkles on Grandma and bright reds from Ruby's hair. And as for Blake, she’s never seen the golden locks of hair that start to fall out of the high ponytail she made this morning shine with so much color, so much brightness. If she already thought Yang's hair was beautiful, now Blake has no words to describe it.

She sees the world around her in a new light. There’s no noise of cars, of people running from one side to the other, of constructions, of bars. Only the song of the birds gurgles in her ears, like a sweet melody that lulls her in this view that seems taken from an exhibition photograph.

“Grandma Calavera,” Ruby breaks the silence with a voice full of curiosity. “Why is the sacred repository of our sanctuary so far away?”

Grandma walks a few steps ahead of them. The patches of light slipping through the trees draw bizarre figures on her back. Under her feet and under the skull-shaped cane that always follows her, the leaves creak again. And, for a moment, that sound is the only answer Ruby receives. She looks at Blake, and she shrugs her shoulders. When it looks like they’re not going to get an answer, Grandma's voice comes to them, bathed in melancholy.

“It's Salem's fault. In that fire, much more than just the meaning of our traditions was lost,” a sigh. “I don't know either.”

 _Salem?_ Blake raises an eyebrow, but Grandma doesn’t notice. It's the first time she’s heard that name, but from the way she's told them about this person, Ruby and Yang must know who she is and what she did. _The problem is that I'm not Yang_ , Blake thinks to herself.

“Who’s Salem?” Blake leans over to Ruby, who walks beside her, and she asks her in a low voice.

“Don't you remember who Salem is? The other day we were talking about her while we were doing the braids!” _So Salem is a ‘her’, I see_. Ruby looks at her with a frown, small wrinkles lie between her fine eyebrows as she stares in suspicion. Blake shrugs her shoulders, not saying anything else, waiting for Ruby to keep talking. She does. “You're so weird, Yang. You know, Salem, the traveler who came to town and because of a fight she had with Ozpin, half the town caught fire. And that's why we lost the writings with our traditions and why we do them. You really don't remember?”

“Oh, yes!” Blake pretends she does, nodding vehemently. Ruby seems pleased and nods as well. Blake smiles. “Of course, Salem. Silly me.”

 _So a fire, huh?_ Blake’s curious to know more, but if she asks Ruby or Grandma right now it's going to be very suspicious, so she’ll ask Yang when they switch bodies again. _Who was that woman? And who was Ozpin? And how did they start a fire with a fight?_ Blake imagines the whole village, with its humble houses, its large rice fields, the edge of the lake, the forests on the slopes of the mountains and the kind people who live in it, burning. It's a horrible sight. A chill runs down her back, despite the warm rays of the sun bathing her face through the trees.

Ruby, Grandma Calavera and Blake have been walking up a mountain path for almost an hour. When she put on her uniform this morning and Ruby looked at her funny, she then told her that today was a holiday in the village, and Grandma said that today they would take an offering to the sacred repository of the God of Creation at the top of this mountain. Blake personally has never believed in Gods, rituals, offerings or ceremonies of this kind. She believes in the things that she can see, that can be touched, measured and explained. Blake’s a girl of science, of history, of finding reasoning and logical solutions, of learning from the mistakes of the past so as not to make them again, of letting herself be guided by the brain and not by the heart. Or she was like that until the exchange of bodies with Yang started several months ago. Something that she can't control, that she can't explain no matter how hard she thinks about it and how much research she does. Something so spectacular, impossible, unreal, almost magical... that makes Blake shudder. Now, she doesn’t really know what to believe in. The world in which Yang lives seems to have been taken from one of those ancient legends, and Blake can't help but feel a little admiration for it. _If I have to believe in something, for now it's enough for me to believe in Yang_.

They continue to walk the path one more stretch without speaking. The sun bathes the foliage of the maples, whose vivid red leaves almost look artificially dyed. The air is warm and pleasant, and the breeze is filled with a delicious scent of dried leaves. It's October. _It's amazing_ , Blake thinks to herself, _how in the blink of an eye autumn has completely covered this land_.

Always in front of them, Grandma Calavera walks at a good pace. Now that Blake thinks about it, she never met her grandparents. For as long as she can remember, just her mother, father and her have always been together, so she had never known what it’s like to be loved and treated by a grandmother, beyond maybe having met her friends' grandparents and seeing the sweetness in their eyes. It's not something Blake’s missed though, she’s had a very happy life. Even so, these months ago living in Yang's body she’s been able to experience how a granddaughter feels when her grandma is caring for her. How Grandma Calavera gets up early every day and prepares tea. How she teaches them the art of braiding with care and perfection. The proud look she gives them after a rehearsal of the ritual. The ‘good nights’ before going to sleep. The legends, tales and teachings that she tells from time to time with the voice of a storyteller, catching all their attention. A thought crosses Blake’s mind. _How old is Yang and Ruby's grandma?_

She thinks about this as she stares at her small back, splashed by patches of light slipping through the treetops. Even up the mountain she still wears traditional clothes and, to her surprise, walks at a steady speed. On the other hand, her back has a very marked curve, one of those so characteristic of people her age, and she leans on walking as she always does on her skull-shaped cane.

“Grandma Calavera,” Blake calls her, walking a little faster to get next to her. She turns and looks at her, curious. Blake kneels when she’s in front of her, offering her back so that she can climb up and Blake can carry her. This tiny woman has raised Yang and her sister alone for many years, and she has always filled her plates with delicious foods, making sure they didn't lack anything. For some reason, Blake also feels that she’s in debt to her. “I'll carry you the rest of the way if you want.”

Under the choppy light from the trees and the glitter of the forest, Grandma's smile looks brighter. Radiant with happiness, she starts to climb up Blake’s back as she asks her ‘Really?’, and says ‘You're so nice, Yang’. A proud blush spreads on Blake’s cheeks, she doesn’t answer. Bake starts noticing her weight behind her back, surprisingly lighter than expected. Also a strangely familiar smell slips through her nose, filling her. She gets the feeling that she’s smelled it a long time ago, maybe at someone else's house, maybe on somebody else many years ago, Blake can't remember it. For a moment, it's like she has a déjà vu, as if she’d already lived this moment, though she knows that's impossible. The strange feeling of intimacy and warmth takes hold of her, stuffing every corner of her chest. As if everything was painfully familiar and she knew this all her life. This smell, her weight on Blake’s back, Ruby's breathing, the sound of the river, the noise of the leaves under their feet, the scent of the people and the essence of the mountain. Everything flows through Blake, as if it had always been there. _As if I always..._

“Are you all right?” Grandma breaks Blake’s chain of thoughts and all of a sudden she’s back in the real world. She nods and gets up with Grandma clinging to her back.

Blake thought that, at least, her legs would shake a little as she supported another person's weight on hers. But she finds Grandma weighs next to nothing. Or, rather, that her body is stronger than usual. Now that she thinks about it, Yang's body is more robust and resilient than it seems. Blake in her body would have needed some help to keep her and Grandma on her feet so easily, but being Yang has been so easy that it's almost ridiculous. Memories and images of her abs this morning come to mind, and Blake blushes unconsciously. Unable to help herself, her admiration for Yang grows. They keep on walking the pathway.

“Yang, Ruby,” Grandma says in a quiet, calm voice behind Blake’s back. “Do you know what Musubi means?”

“Musubi? A bond?” Ruby replies, walking beside them carrying Blake’s backpack hanging from her front and hers from behind, while playing with the hood of her cloak.

Among the loopholes of the trees that have surrounded them until now, the stunning and serene circular shape of the lake starts to unfold, if they look further down. Blake calculates that they have to be already very high in the mountain, apparently. There shouldn't be much left until they reach the top. Lost in the admiration of the landscape that envelops them, Blake had almost forgotten the mission they have. She goes on without stopping carrying Grandma on her back, she starts to notice some drops of sweat slipping down her temples.

“Musubi is the name given to the God of these lands in a very ancient language,” Grandma continues. “This word has very deep meanings.”

 _The God of these lands? What does she mean? Does she really believe in these things?_ Blake thinks to herself in disbelief, while she listens to her voice full of confidence and conviction. But the truth is that the voice of Yang's grandma, who looks like a character taken from an ancient Remnant legend book, owns an inexplicable power of influence, and makes Blake rethink everything she believes.

“When we braid we create a ‘bond’ between the strings we have put together. ‘Bonds’ are also created between people by connecting with each other. The flow of time is also, in its own way, a ‘bond’,” her solemn voice pierces Blake’s ears and rumbles in her heart following the rhythm of her heavy beats, marking each word. “All these phenomena use the same word – the name of a god, and its power. The braiding that we do is also the technique of God, which precisely reflects the course of time.”

Blake can hear the murmur of the water coming from the river. _There must be a stream nearby_ , she thinks, even though her mind is actually following Grandma's flow of words.

“They come together and take shape. They turn, intertwine, and sometimes they unravel. They break and then reconnect,” Blake imagines a branch of a river. The colored strings mixing. The leaves of the trees joining the surface of the water. Threads of all kinds that are created, connected and destroyed to be reconnected. “That's what braiding is. That's time. And that's also a ‘bond’.”

Blake visualizes the flow of a crystalline water. It hits the rocks, separates, joins with other currents and comes back to its torrent. The water of each river, each swamp, each lake, each sea, and each ocean is part of a whole that is connected. Just like the people and the threads that connect them, separate and entangle one another. Though Blake has no idea what Grandma is trying to tell them, she feels in her heart that she’s learned a very important lesson. _A bond_. She’ll try to engrave those words in her mind, to remember their meaning when she wakes up. Meanwhile, a drop of sweat slips down her face and falls to the ground with a low noise, after a few moments the dry land of the mountain sucks it up.

“Here, drink.”

After a while, they take a brief break under the shade of a large reddish tree. The leaves that fall from it dance around them with parsimony. Blake breathes deeply, and the smell of earth fills her again. It's pleasant. Grandma Calavera takes out a canteen and gives it to her.

 _It's delicious_. She's brewed a toasted barley tea and added a spoonful of sugar which, diluted, gives it a sweet taste. Blake drinks two glasses in one go. Ruby is also asking for more, moving her plastic cup insistently in front of her face. She understand Ruby's enthusiasm, this may be the best drink Blake’s tasted to date. None of the drinks at the restaurants, bars or cafes she’s visited so far had such a good taste. She looks at her plastic cup, still with the brown liquid casting a few threads of smoke because it's still hot. _It tastes better because it's authentic_ , Blake thinks to herself. _Because it's real, natural and authentic, like everything else in this little town_. Blake looks at Yang's grandmother and Ruby, and she can't help but smile.

“This is also a bond,” Grandma says again with a soft laugh.

“How?” Blake looks at her, sitting on the roots of the tree, while she passes the canteen to Ruby so she pours another cup in.

“Did you know? Whether it's water, rice, tea, food, alcohol... When a person consumes something, a ‘bond’ is formed. What enters the body is linked to the soul, to the spirit,” she continues. “The offering we're going to make today is part of a very important tradition that connects the Gods with mankind.”

Blake nods as she listens to her words, and let them echo within her. She looks down at the drink that rests in the plastic cup. She wonders if this tea she’s drinking will merge with her soul or Yang's soul, or if it will be a bond that will bring them both together. For some reason, this idea comforts Blake.

 

* * *

 

Almost without realizing it, the trees have been disappearing around them. They’re already very high on the mountain, they should reach the top at any moment. Without trees wrapping around her field of vision, the world seems to have widened and expanded all around Blake. Beneath their feet, beyond the mountain footpaths, below where the sparrows fly, Blake can see a village next to a huge lake, the size of her sketchbook, partially covered by clouds. Raising her eyes above she notices that, without the treetops hiding it, the sky seems immense, endless. Blake looks up and sees more clouds, but these are not thick, but ethereal and resplendent, covering the peaks of the other mountains that surround them with their imposing presence. They merge with the currents of wind and disappear in an instant towards the distance, leaving a trace of white fragments, like shattered, through the blue of the sky. Around them there are only rocks covered with moss. _At last, we've reached the top._

“Hey, I can see it!”

Ruby exclaims with a scream, jumping from one rock to another, quickly moving away without waiting for them, until she reaches a large rock and climbs up on it, gazing at something beyond. Blake manages to reach her, even though she’s still carrying Grandma on her back, her muscles protesting every movement, and she follows her gaze. Unconsciously, Blake opens her mouth a bit. The landscape before her eyes is undoubtedly the most impressive thing she’s ever seen. Astonished, Blake looks beyond as she bends down and leaves Grandma on the floor carefully, who looks at her with a pleased little smile. She hears her voice before she can process her thoughts, little stronger than a whisper, filled with a solemn emotion unfamiliar to her.

“Is that the sacred place of the God of Creation?” Blake asks aloud, although the question really echoes in the mountain without the need for an answer.

In front of her lies a huge hollow in the shape of a cauldron, as if someone had emptied half the top of the mountain, creating a perfectly round and gigantic basin. Everything around them is part of the rim of the ravine, a practically perfect circle of stone, and within it extend several tens of kilometers of bright green earth under the sunlight, with small rivers and accumulations of water that connect to each other, with small leafy areas with trees slightly taller than her. It's like a paradise at the top of the mountain, protected by the clouds that surround the summit a little lower and bathed by the sunlight that's directly above them. And right in the middle of the ravine, there's a single colossal tree of enormous dimensions, bordered by a river that surrounds it making a circle around it. _Something tells me that this is where we have to go._

Still with the amazement shining in her violet irises, Blake watches in awe the scenery that far surpasses anything she could've imagined. From one point to another, Blake analyzes everything that her eyes see, trying to print it behind her eyelids so that she can draw it when she wakes up in her body in the morning. Up here, higher than the layer of clouds, beyond the very edge of the world, at the point closer to the sun than Blake’s ever been, the air is denser and more difficult to breathe. Yet that's not why she feels like she’s short of air in her lungs. There's complete silence up here. It's just Ruby, Grandma Calavera and her. There are no birds, no more people, and of course there's not the constant noise of cars, people, buildings and music that’s usual in Atlas. Blake closes her eyes for a moment, and if she focuses enough she can hear her heart beating, her heavy breathing, the pure air coming in through her nostrils, the dry sound of her snickers against the rocks, and she can almost hear her thoughts as well. _Never before had I been in a place that gave so much peace as I feel now_ , Blake thinks to herself. _I wish Yang could also see this, here and now, with me._

“From here on is the Hidden World,” Grandma says, stopping her walk.

They’ve walked down to the center of the vast depression at the top of the mountain. Just in front of her is a small stream of crystal water, and a little further on, the giant tree.

“The Hidden World?” Ruby and Blake ask in unison, looking at Grandma not completely understanding.

“Exactly,” she nods, as if it were obvious. “It means that beyond this point is the Other World.”

_The Other World._

Grandma's deep, solemn voice resounds cold in Blake’s eardrums, and it gives her chills all over her spine. She can almost feel the hair on her faunus ears bristle, if she was in her body, of course. She looks at the stream, which flows quietly in front of her, and then at the imposing tree that rises in the middle of the hollow, their destination. Blake looks back at the long road they have descended, the slope of the mountain and the stone edges of this large basin. She can feel her legs freezing, as if they were made of cold and motionless marble that doesn't respond to her own will. The reassuring silence that had surrounded them all along the way turns deafening in her ears. All of a sudden it overwhelms her so much that she can't breathe, she’s short of air in her lungs. _Sacred mountains, mystical places, energy points._ Grandma has used several ways to talk about this place, this feeling. Whatever name it gets, Blake is convinced that a supernatural atmosphere is everywhere around them. She can't help but shrink slightly. _The other world_ , Blake repeats to herself, letting the words sink in like raindrops on her clothes. _What if I can't come back just because I came in here? What if I cross over to the other side and get trapped in this place, in this body?_

“Oooh! The other world!”

Ruby exclaims, full of excitement, as she jumps and splashes across the stream. Blake looks at her as she crosses and reaches the other side, and she turns to show them a huge, proud smile. Blake’s only known her for a few months, since her and Yang's body exchange began, but whenever she looks at her, Ruby's always full of energy and vitality. Blake has to admit that such effusiveness is often overwhelming to her, but now seeing her like that, so cheerful despite having walked all morning, with her bright silver eyes looking at them with kindness, Blake can't help but feel tenderness towards her. _Maybe I should learn more from Ruby and Yang_ , she tells herself, looking up at the sky. With the wonderful day they have and the soft sound of the breeze, there's no need to be afraid. She looks at Grandma, who observes Ruby with the same affection bathing her also silver eyes. Blake innerly smiles to herself. _Yes, there’s no need to be afraid_. Using the rocks as a support, she holds Grandma's hand to help her cross the stream without her getting wet.

“In order to return to our world,” she says, mysterious. “It’s necessary to leave behind what is most precious to you.”

“Grandma...” Blake whispers, a nervous smile dancing on her lips. _What if I'm really going to get trapped in here!?_ “What exactly do you mean?”

Yang's grandmother laughs at her insecurity, which makes Blake worry more.

“Don't be afraid, my dear,” she makes a carefree gesture with her hand that doesn't help making Blake feel better. “I'm talking about the Elixir of the Gods.”

_The Elixir of the Gods?_

"Come on, get it out," Grandma urges them when they reach the base of the huge tree in the middle of the hollow. Beneath it there’s a kind of small temple made of solid white stone. Or what must have been a temple once, but now it's half demolished, standing as it can on the enormous roots of the big tree. Even so, there's an opening which must have been the gateway many years ago. Before entering, Grandma Calavera stops them and asks them to take them out.

Ruby and Blake then opened their backpacks and each one took out an identical container. They are two little jars of white and shiny ceramics. Blake remembers seeing some of them in the houses of the village at some point. The circular base, of about five centimeters in diameter, has a kind of pedestal on which it rests. And the cap is tied by a red braided cord, which Blake guesses they made themselves in the sanctuary. Following Ruby's example, she uncorks it to see that it still has its contents. She can hear the sound of the liquid inside as it swings, and a slight smell of alcohol tickles her nose. She closes it again, tying the string making sure it doesn't fall off, with a nice bow. No matter how solemn everything is, Blake doesn’t know what any of this means. She’s sure Yang would know what to do, and for her it would have a much deeper meaning than Blake can feel now. Still, she can't help but feel fortunate that she’s living this through her violet eyes.

“Beneath the sacred repository,” Grandma continues, staring at the great tree, pointing to it with her skull-shaped can. “Is a small sanctuary. That is where you will make the offering. Now, this Elixir represents the other half of yourself.”

_The other half of Yang._

Blake looks at the ceramic jar that she holds carefully, as if it could shatter just by looking at it too intensely, and she feels it fragile in her hands, precious. Yang has chewed this rice to make the Elixir of the Gods. She thinks of Grandma's words, of that lesson that she’s tried to engrave in her soul so that she doesn’t forget when she wakes up, about the links and bonds that they make with the world. One could say that this Elixir, as well, is the product of a ‘bond’ between this body and that rice. That Yang has merged with her soul and that now Blake’s the one seeing this bond, and she keeps it in her hands. A piece of her spirit, of her life, of her rebellious character, of her ambitions, desires, hopes, dreams, goals and illusions. A fragment of Yang _._ The other half of Yang. _And now I'm the one who holds it_.

Some blond locks escape from the perfect high ponytail Blake made this morning, she lets the wind rock them around her, tickling her cheeks, stealing golden sparkles from the sun itself. With her heart beating solemnly in her ribcage, and her chest full of a foreign sense of pride, Blake starts to walk towards the tree, ready to offer the other half of Yang. For some reason Blake is reassured to think that, somewhere in the world, it's Yang who holds her other half.

 

* * *

 

Blake thinks this is the first time she’s heard the cicadas singing. She knows they're cicadas because she’s heard this sound before, in movies and on television, when they want to let them know it's getting dark. Yet, hearing their sad hum now, descending the mountain hillside, coming from all angles, wraps her again in the comfortable feeling of being surrounded by nature _. I could get used to this_ , Blake thinks as she watches the layer of clouds surrounding the mountain peaks below. They’re still high up, even though they’ve been walking their way back for several hours now. The fog starts to climb up the trees, covering them with its cold, thick blanket of curious clouds, and Blake tries to figure out how long it will take for those to reach them. The sun still shines high in the sky, imposing, but not with the strength of earlier. Its flashes have grown orange, almost the shade of the sky. As if colored with pink, yellow, orange and purple watercolors, it stretches until it turns into a thin line that blends in with the ranges of the farthest mountains. _Really, this landscape looks like it was taken from a photography exhibition_.

“Yang, look! It's already time for sunset.”

After a long day of rituals, instead of being exhausted Ruby seems calmer, as if she had just finished her homework. The rays of sunset light, bright and accurate as spotlights, reach both Yang's sister and grandma with their orange glow sideways and create a scene almost so perfect that it looks like a painting _. I wish I could stop the time now_ , Blake thinks, _and draw this scene. Yang would very much like to have lived this_.

Ruby walks to the edge of a hill, leaving the footpath to get a better view, and Blake follows her. Looking down, she unconsciously exhales a little ‘Whoa’ under her breath. From the top where they are, Blake can see the whole village scattered on the slopes of the mountains that surround it. Practically from a bird's eye view, Yang's village stretches out before her, bordering the entire lake that looks like a huge mirror. The violet shadows of the twilight have already engulfed it, and only the lake reflects with soft shades the color of the sunset. Little by little, a pink color begins to dye the hillsides of the mountains. Dinnertime is approaching and the houses start to show very fine rows of smoke, as if sending out small smoke signals. The sparrows, flying over the village, move in a fun and flickering way, like the specks of dust floating in an empty classroom after school hours, filling the valley with their chirping.

“Oh, that's right! It won't be long before we can see the comet!” Ruby says as she reaches out her hand to block out the twilight light and searches for something in the sky, a distracted smile dancing on her lips.

_The comet?_

Now that Ruby mentions it, Blake remembers that this morning the TV girl was talking about it. They had reported that a comet was approaching and that it was close enough to be seen with the naked eye. Blake searches her memories for the words she let slip without paying attention to, with a strange feeling that it's something important. She said that if they looked at the sky just after sunset above Venus they could see a bright spot. The comet.

“The comet...” Blake repeats aloud, and she hears her voice as if it was not her who spoke, but someone else at another time.

_Huh?_

She has the sudden feeling that she’s forgetting something. That weird feeling swirls in her stomach, telling her something's not right, but she doesn’t know what it is. And she can't concentrate on finding out. Right now, the idea of seeing the comet is everything that fills her mind, every chink and corner, as if it were the most important thing in the world. _The comet_. Blake narrows her eyes and joins Ruby in trying to find it in the middle of a firmament dotted with splintered clouds. Then she sees it, Blake sees it in a flash – there's the tail of the comet, a bluish glow, above the extraordinarily bright Venus. Her heart's hammering insistently in her chest, a strange sensation flowing through her veins, running from head to toe, tingling at her fingertips like sand. Blake feels as if something was struggling to rise from the deepest part of her memory. Something that has been asleep for a long time and now fights to wake up. But she doesn’t know what it is – _I don't know what's going on_. The air becomes heavier and heavier, and the movements become slower and slower. Blake tries to cling to that thought, to that something that strives to come to the surface of her troubled memory.

_Wait a minute. I think I... I've got it._

_A long time ago... I, too..._

“Oh, Yang...”

Grandma Calavera gets her out of her trance. She's lifted up her head and looks at Blake deeply, plunging her irises into Blake’s with such intensity that she can almost feel her presence physically touching her soul. Then, Blake sees her reflection in her deep dark eyes.

And she doesn’t see Yang, but her auburn hair, her faunus ears and her almond yellow eyes looking back at her from the reflection of Grandma Calaveras’s eyes.

“You're dreaming, aren't you?”

 

* * *

 

Blake opens her eyes.

All of a sudden.

She’s gotten up so abruptly that the sheets have been thrown out and have ended up falling softly and quietly on the wood floor of her room. Her heart is pounding like never before, with so much energy that it feels like it will make her ribs break at any moment, so strong that it's physically painful. Still, Blake can't feel her heartbeat. Her body feels numb. _How strange..._ but just then, she notices the blood flowing through her veins again, like ants running through her chest, arms, legs, fingers, to the tip of her faunus ears, which stretch lazily. And a half-short sigh comes out of her dehydrated lips.

The song of the morning sparrow on the other side of the window, the engine of the cars, the voices of the street people, the noises of the constructions, the whistles of the trains... as if her body had finally remembered where it was, her ear begins to automatically pick up the sounds of Atlas.

“Tears...?”

With a trembling hand, Blake touches her cheek and discovers that a tear rests on her fingertip. A single crystalline tear, similar to those that now descend through her cheeks to the curve of her chin, wetting Blake’s face and leaving a trace full of an emotion that she cannot remember.

_Why?_

Not understanding anything, Blake wipes the tears with the palm of her hand, but more and more keep coming. She has a knot in her heart that squeezes her, and her breathing sounds difficult and almost like panting in the morning silence. Blake squeezes the palms of her hands against her closed eyes, trying to stop the tears from falling. _Stop_ , Blake begs. _Stop!_

Then the sight of the sunset of a few moments ago is drawn in her mind, the orange and violet shades in a scattered sky, and the words of Yang's grandma resound in her memory in a distant way. _Bonds_. Blake tries to cling to that vision, to those words, to that memory, to Yang... but everything begins to dry up and disappear like drops of water in the desert. The memory melts like sand between her fingers, leaving tiny fragments and an empty void inside her, almost suffocating. _What's going on? Why am I crying? Have I dreamt of a sunset?_

The phone, resting on the pillow, rings.

 

**I'm about to arrive! I can't wait!**

Blake reads the message once, twice, and blinks. It's a message from Sun. _It's a message from Sun?_

 _About to arrive...? What is he talking about...?_ Her cloudy mind does its best to make sense of it, but it doesn't find anything that fits. Blake rereads it with a frown. _Were we going to hang out?_ Then she can almost see a light physically lighting up in her head, and she opens her eyes wide.

“Don't tell me Yang has done it again!”

Blake moves around to get a better position in bed and starts looking for Yang's entries on her phone, frantically going from one to the other, looking for an explanation. _What have you done this time, Yang?_

Suddenly, all the air in her lungs vanishes like snow melting in the sun, and she feels the adrenaline rush through every fiber of her being, every nerve, hair and centimeter of her skin like an electric shock capable of paralyzing an elephant. The phone falls from her trembling hands to the bed.

“I have a date!?”

Blake jumps out of bed and starts getting dressed at the speed of light.

 

**You have a date with Sun in Mistral tomorrow! You're meeting in front of the station at 10:30 am, don't be late! I've planned everything for you to have a good time, and I've also made sure to include plans that I know you'll like. Don't be nervous and be yourself, I'm sure he's going to simply love you!**

**You're probably mad at me right now for planning all this without telling you, but spontaneous plans are the best plans! Please don't panic, just let yourself be carefree for one evening, okay?**

**I really hope you have a great time, Blake.**

Blake’s never considered herself a believer, but right now she’s thanking every god she can think of that the place where this airhead says she has to meet Sun is so close to her house. After hurrying to get ready – _I almost forgot to put on my orange bracelet, and I never leave home without it!_ – and walking fast dodging people on the street, Blake gets to the meeting point ten minutes earlier. She looks at her phone to make sure Sun hasn't arrived yet while she tries to catch her breath and bring the air back to her tired lungs. Though today is a holiday and it's early in the morning, the station area is full of people, Blake notices.

“Gosh, Yang...” She whispers to herself, running her hands through her hair nervously as she looks for Sun's face in the crowd, heart racing. “Why do you have to do these things...? Didn't I tell you not to mess up my life...!?”

Blake has a date with Sun _. I have a date with Sun, out of all the people in this world. And on top of that, it's my first date ever! And with Sun! Sun, who looks like he's taken from a fashion magazine or a male cologne ad!_ Blake feels a blush climbing up her neck and spreading over her already warm cheeks. _Yang, please_ , she begs mentally even though she knows Yang can't hear her, _you still have time to switch places with me!_

“Hello, Blake!”

A cheerful, familiar voice greets her from behind, and she turns abruptly with her heart hammering in her ears.

“I'm sorry, didn't want to startle you,” Sun says, scratching his neck nervously but with a beautiful smile dancing on his lips. “Have you been waiting for long?”

“No,” Blake looks down, lightly embarrassed, noticing how her ears also bend a little. “I just got here.”

“Great!” She can almost hear his smile getting bigger, the ease in his voice. “We're both on time!”

Then Blake looks at him. Slightly tight white trousers, surprisingly long and not shorts as he’s used to wear; formal, closed shoes, not his typical slippers; and a black, almost summery shirt buttoned to the middle of his chest. The black-and-white combination of the outfit makes the uncovered areas of the chest and arms stand out in contrast, with his tanned skin and toned muscles. Also, it seems that this time he’s tried to comb his hair with more care, though his typical blond locks of free and rebellious hair give him his characteristic youthful and casual look.

He gives Blake a brilliant smile. _He's gorgeous._

“You look very pretty, Blake,” he says with sincerity overflowing in every pore of his perfect skin, and Blake’s blush grows, coloring her cheeks even more.

“Shall we go?” Blake stutters, not knowing what to say. He nods and follows her as she walks to the places that Yang, with so much care and dedication, has selected for them.

 

* * *

 

“I can't talk to him...”

Blake finds herself looking at her reflection in the girls' restrooms of a museum, with a downhearted feeling stirring her chest and with an infinite desire to bang her head against the wall.

Three hours have passed since their date started, but not in all her life has Blake felt so exhausted. She sighs, looking at the tired face that looks back at her in the mirror. Her almond yellow eyes glow with unease. They’ve been to the places that Yang left written on Blake’s phone, places that she had booked earlier so they could enjoy a fun date. They went to a cafeteria, went up to the highest tower in Atlas with its beautiful views, went to eat at a very good restaurant, and now they are in a photography museum. To be honest, those are all activities that Blake would've planned herself, things that she likes. It's obvious that Yang has made an effort to think about her and her likings, and that makes Blake feel a pleasant warmth in her stomach. _But... I feel like I'm ruining everything._ She mentally apologizes to Yang, even though she knows it can't get to her, because she’s being such a mess. She had no idea that spending an entire day with Sun, such a kind, funny and open guy, could be so difficult for her. Blake can’t help but think that if Yang were with her today, it would all be easier.

She looks at her reflection in the mirror again, and a wave of insecurities floods her inside. She stares at her colorless eyes, her crooked mouth in a tired grimace, her brows slightly frowned with frustration, and the thought bursts in her head again. _Because of me Sun's not having fun, and Yang’s worked hard for nothing_. All the people they come across in the street turn to look at him, because he's very handsome, like a model. And Blake feels that then they take a look at the girl who walks beside him, that's her, and put on a face that says ‘What is he doing with a girl like that?’ Blake doesn’t know if it's real or her imagination, but each one of those furtive glances is stuck like daggers in her back. _I don't blame them, though_. Blake’s fully aware that Sun is out of her league. She clenches her fists on the top of the sink. She wants to run away, find Yang in that faraway village in the middle of the mountains, grab her by the shoulders and shout ‘Why did you have to put me in this situation!? Why aren't you here to help me fix everything!?’.

Because of her insecurities and worries, Blake has no idea what to talk to Sun about. He's noticed and tried to talk to her several times, but then she gets nervous, stutters or says nonsense, and she feels like running away again. _It's exhausting_ , Blake thinks defeated, as she wonders what Yang talks to him about when they're alone. _It's easier for you_ , Blake talks to her mentally, _you're good at talking to people and being open and friendly_. She thought it was her who didn't want to make friends until now that she’s realized that she’s really bad at talking to people. _Why is it different with you? Is it because we exchange bodies? No, that's not it. With you it's easier to be myself, because you've already seen how I really am and I don't have to pretend to be something I'm not._ Blake sighs weakly.

As if she was looking for her help, Blake takes her phone out and reads the entry that Yang left for her.

 

**Something tells me you've never been on a date before, am I right? But fear nothing! I'm with you, even if I'm not physically there, and just in case I've added a compilation of conversation topics selected by me with a lot of love <3**

 

“Really...?”

Blake whispers to herself, and she can almost feel tears of relief in her eyes. She feels the sudden need to hug Yang very tightly. _You're with me but not physically, huh?_ Without further ado, Blake opens the links she's attached as if they were divine offerings.

 

**Topic 1: I'm dating a guy and I'm suffering from anxiety.**

**Topic 2: Conversation Tips and Techniques for People who have not Succeeded in Love nor even One Millisecond of their Lives.**

**Topic 3: Are you tired of being thought of as a bore? How to Be Loved: Special Phone Message Collection.**

 

Blake cringes. She gets the slightest impression that Yang is teasing her pretty badly.

 

* * *

 

She walks around the museum, leaping with her eyes from photograph to photograph; somewhat more relaxed, at last. They’re watching a photographic exhibition titled ‘Nostalgia’. The photos are in black and white, of remote Remnant landscapes and villages that Blake doesn’t recognize. She likes both photography and architecture, so she finds this exhibition quite interesting. Blake thanks Yang again mentally for having worked so hard on this date. Also, she appreciates this environment where it's not so weird not to talk. The museum isn't crowded, and most of the people who, like them, are observing the exhibition, are in a religious silence. The only thing Blake can hear is the muffled sound of their shoes walking on the marble floor, from one section of the exhibition to another. She appreciates the silence and the calm. Blake gazes out of the corner of her eye at Sun, who slowly walks two meters in front of her as he watches the photographs with a relaxed expression _. I wouldn't have said he liked this sort of thing_ , Blake thinks to herself.

They’ve spent some time looking at the exhibition now. It's divided into different sections according to the regions – Sanus, Solitas, Anima and Menagerie. Of the landscapes they show, Blake could recognize the most relevant and known. The valleys of Vale, the deserts of Vacuo, the tundra of the outlying of Atlas, the forests of Mistral. But the other photographs are difficult to tell apart, and they all look practically the same to her. Strangely enough, even houses, train stations, roads or people look alike. Blake’s sure that wherever you go, most small towns and cities look very much alike, all of Remnant's fields are the same. Yet the city of Atlas has much more personality. She thinks about how all its neighborhoods have their own characteristic features, their customs, their clothes and fashions, their citizens. All unique and different, but coexisting in the same city. _It's fantastic_.

But when Blake passes in front of the last of the regions, her feet suddenly stop on their own, as if a magnet had attached them to the ground. And something in the photographs captures all her attention.

_This place is different._

In fact, all the photos have a lot in common with the rest she’s seen, but there's definitely something different _. I recognize this place_ , Blake thinks unconsciously as she gets closer. The shape of the imposing mountains, the zigzagging curves of the roads, the size of the glassy lake, the shape of the sanctuary and its large red arches at the entrance, the pattern of the rice fields... Disconnected images dot her head, filling it with memories that she can't quite place. The smell of autumn in the mountains, the sound of the asphalt of the road under her shoes, the light of the sunset reflected in the mirror of the beautiful lake, the cicadas singing under the moon at the sanctuary's gates, the touch of the wheat of the fields in her hands...

Blake looks at the photos with a warmth and familiarity radiating from the deepest part of her chest to her fingertips with an almost electric sensation, similar to the one you have when you find a photo album that you thought was lost and you rediscover memories that your mind had buried. She feels as if the place shown in the photos were the village she used to visit every summer when she was a child during her holidays. Even though technically Blake never did that. A place that fills her with nostalgia, with a yearning that she can't explain. The feeling of déjà vu is there, blossoming in her mind and trying to break through, insistent. _Remember_ , it’s like it tells her. _Remember_. _Remember_.

Blake’s breathing grows faster.

_This place..._

“You all right, Blake?”

Like a spring, Blake turns to the voice and blinks once, twice. She stumbles upon Sun, standing next to her. For a moment, she had completely forgotten about him. Blake nods weakly and looks into his eyes, hoping to find the same comforting glow.

“You know, Blake?” He says with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. “You seem like someone else today.”

Sun turns around and walks by himself, leaving Blake behind. A knot grows in her chest, and Blake doesn’t know how to untie it. This time she doesn’t have any messages from Yang to help her.

 

* * *

 

_This is a disaster._

Blake feels her body heavy, as if every movement is a great effort, as if she has no more energy left. She’s spent the whole day sticking to the plan Yang had made for them as if she was taking an exam. She’s tried so hard to make sure that everything went well so that she could live up to both Sun and Yang's expectations, and in the end, she’s done nothing but ruin everything.

‘You haven't ruined anything, you idiot’, Blake can almost hear Yang's voice scolding her if she knew about her gloomy thoughts. ‘You'll do better next time, I'm sure!’ She imagines her voice full of confidence and she can almost feel her close, even though she's miles away. Even so, the heaviness in her stomach doesn't go away.

Blake hasn’t stopped trying to come up with excuses in her head all day, but the worst part is that she’s completely ignored Sun's feelings. It was her – well, Yang – who asked him out. And in theory Blake should be jumping out of joy that she’s been able to spend an entire day with him. To have a _date_ with him. After all, this is what she’s been wishing for a long time, and today has finally happened. Today has nearly touched the miraculous. _Then, why do I feel this empty?_

They’re on a high bridge across a river. From here, they can see the skyscrapers of Mistral, where they were a while ago. All around them the countless windows of the city's buildings reflect the light of the sunset and shine with yellow, orange, pink, violet tones in all directions. Again, a vague sense of familiarity shyly emerges somewhere in Blake’s memory. She clenches her fists a little, helplessly. Blake looks again at Sun's back, who walks without saying anything in front of her.

His rebellious hair shining with the colors of the sunset, the shoes and the shirt that seem brand new... He probably has bothered to dress nicely, at least for today, just for Blake. She bites her lip. When she realizes this, she feels a tightness in her chest and she feels that she has trouble breathing, as if she didn't have enough oxygen. Blake stretches out her arm towards him, like trying to reach the surface of the sea, she makes a huge effort to find the right words.

“Sun,” Blake calls him shyly. He doesn't turn around. “Are you hungry? Do you want us to go and have dinner in...?”

“We'd better leave it here for today,” he cuts her off with a gentle tone of voice she’s never heard him speak before, as if afraid to say the wrong words. This makes Blake feel worse.

“Okay,” she says, barely a whisper, stopping on her tracks. Blake can feel the tears start to build up behind her eyes, but she won't cry in front of him.

Sun has finally turned to face her, but the rays of light at his back darken his face, and Blake can't see him well.

“Hey, Blake,” he says, taking a step toward her with that compassionate smile that doesn't reach his eyes and that tightens the knot in Blake’s chest. “Can I tell you something?”

“Yes,” Blake nods, confused.

“I always thought you liked me, didn't you?”

He says, in the most natural way in the world, while the last rays of the sun gleam blue sparkles from his eyes that look at her full of curiosity. Blake’s heart beats faster, she feels a blush blossoming under her cheeks again. She looks away, biting her lip and shaking her head firmly. She doesn’t think she can say anything that makes sense right now. It hammers, her heart against her ribs. _Did he know all this time!? How!?_

“But now you like someone else, don't you?”

His voice grows even gentler and softer, nearly a whisper, while a slight smile, this time real, lights up his face.

“No!” Blake denies, still shaking her head. “You're wrong!”

She notices the palms of her hands getting wet and tries to think of anything to focus her attention on other than those eyes that look at her with amusement.

“Really?” He gets closer and looks at Blake with suspicion, as if this was a game, though she’s having a terrible time. She feels her cheeks burning.

“I’m serious!” Blake stutters, pushing him away. He laughs. “I don't like anyone else!”

_I like somebody else? Not at all! Impossible!_

But, for a brief moment, pictures of Yang's long, blonde mane, her playful violet eyes go through Blake’s head. Just a second, a tiny moment in time. Blake tries her best to push them away, but it's pointless. In a split second, her whole head is full of memories of her. Of the soft and firm touch of her abs, of her reflection on the lake, of her other half at the top of the mountain, of her photographs as a child spread all over the sanctuary, of her messages on Blake’s phone. ‘I'm with you, even if I'm not physically there’ **.** _No, no this can't be. I don't... I can't..._

Blake feels her chest exploding with a thousand colors, with the colors of the sunset, the colors of the braiding of the sanctuary, the violet of Yang’s eyes, the yellow of Blake’s, the blue of the comet. Blake’s body trembles, it shivers at the thought. Among all the emotions that collapse, are destroyed when they crash and are formed again inside her, like rivers that flow, like _bonds_ , Blake finds Sun's gaze. He smiles at her, like he already knows the answer to the questions that has been haunting Blake’s head for months. He stares at her with acceptance, with understanding, with resolution.

“Well, it doesn't matter,” he adds as he moves his face away from Blake’s. “I had a great time today. Thank you, Blake. See you at work, huh?”

Sun waves his hand, again with his usual lighthearted expression, and walks ahead, leaving Blake alone. She opens her hands that she held in closed fists, and she watches the small half-moon marks that her nails have shaped in her skin, with a slight sting of pain. She seeks an answer, something to say, anything in her mind that until a second ago had been boiling with thoughts, but she finds nothing. The most absolute, white and empty nothing. She’s out of words. While she tries to react, Sun has already come down the steps of the bridge and got lost in the crowd gathered in front of the station.

Blake watches the sunset alone, how the last rays of sunlight of the day are lost within the huge buildings, feeling as if she’d been abandoned at the end of the summer holidays. To her faunus ears comes the steady noise of cars driving on either side of the bridge, the mixed voices of passing people, the distant but lingering babble of the city of Atlas. Above, the sun hides behind a needle tower next to a housing building, flashing like the light of a lantern that's about to run out of batteries. And she understands, because she feels that way too. Blake stays still for a while watching the light intensely, as if she could recover something she don't have anymore, until it completely fades away.

She gets the feeling that she should be doing other things. As if there's something really important that she’s forgetting, something she should be pouring all her energy and all her soul into. _But I don't know what it is._ Blake sighs, exhausted, wondering if she knows anything at all at this point.

_Yes, there's something._

What Blake does know is that she wants to go back to Yang's village, with its towering mountains, its autumn scent, and its peaceful evenings. Switching with Yang is pretty much the only way she can reach her. Other than the messages they leave each other, of course. It was awkward and irritating at first, at least for Blake, but now she feels different. Yang and her are linked in a special way. They’re something unique, a rare event that doesn't happen every day. They both share life experiences. When they swap bodies, Blake can see the world through her violet eyes, touch her world with her hands, feel her emotions in her chest. _We are... we're connected, forming a bond._ Blake remembers her Grandma talking about bonds. Paths that unite, intertwine and create ties between people, between everything that touches your soul. _Has Yang touched my soul? Are our lives so hopelessly intertwined?_ At any other time, this idea would've scared Blake and even annoyed her, that her life is in someone else's hands beside hers. But now she only feels kind of calm. _Because it's Yang_ , Blake says to herself.

She looks at the sky, looking for something even though she doesn’t know what she’s looking for. Blake’s sure with Yang she could easily talk about the chaotic date she’s had. _I want to talk to her_ , she thinks. _I want to start one of our silly arguments_. ‘You're terrible at talking to people, and I even left for you a lot of helpful links!’ she'd say. ‘First of all, it was you who asked Sun out on a date, so it's your fault’, Blake would reply. She smiles at this thought.

Blake opens the diary app on her phone to reread the entry Yang left her about the date. She finds that Yang's message still goes on.

 

**By the time the date is over, the comet will already be visible in the sky. How romantic!**

**Make sure you take him to a high place and watch it together, okay? It must be a beautiful sight. I wish I could be there and see it with you, Blake.**

**But well, you're going to have the pleasure to enjoy an awesome date and have a great time. Take lots of pictures so I can see it the next time we switch! Best of luck! Remember, be yourself and have fun.**

**After all, watching this comet with your date will be one hell of a view!**

_The comet?_

Blake looks up at the sky.

The last rays of the sunset are already long gone, the orange tones fade like smoke over the skyscrapers, and the first stars start to be glimpsed as little twinkling dots. In the sky there’s just one big jet flying over the city with a faint noise that reaches Blake’s faunus ears like a murmur. Obviously, there’s no sight of any comet.

“What is she talking about?”

Blake whispers to herself, looking up to the sky and looking for something that she knows she won't find. If there was a comet that was visible to the naked eye, Blake’s sure the new would've been on every TV channel there is and all over the internet. She frowns, wondering. _Yang must be mistaken, that's all_.

Suddenly, she feels a sting in her heart, sharp and burning pain like a fire dagger twisting in her chest.

She feels like something is trying to reach the surface of her mind again. Remember. _Remember_ , Blake can almost feel it whispering to her. But her mind is surrounded by huge stone walls – _I don't know what I'm supposed to remember_. She doesn’t know why her chest suddenly feels so heavy, as if the weight of the universe had fallen on her shoulders in a split second, shouting in silence that something isn’t going right, _that something is very wrong. That I have to…_

Following an impulse, Blake searches through her phone until she finds Yang's phone number. Breathing heavily, she looks at those eleven numbers that light up the screen. That number that she’s tried to call a couple of times since this crazy body exchange started some months ago, always without success. With her fingertip, Blake touches the green button on the screen, calling her. She hears the ringing tone. Her heart beats troubled, she feels how the blood runs through every corner of her body, how every fiber of her being shudders with every second that passes without her answering. And then, the voice of the operator.

 

**The number you have dialed is not available at this time. Please, try again...**

 

Blake abruptly moves the phone away from her ear and presses the icon to end the call feeling empty inside.

As she expected, calling doesn't work. She shakes her head. She knew this was going to happen, this isn’t the first time they tried to call each other. Blake sighs and warm air comes out of her soft lips. She rests her hands on the cold metal bar of the bridge, letting the cold sensation spread through her arms, through her body, helping her feel calm again _. I really don't know what's happening to me lately_. She’s probably just tired. It's been a long day, and a lot of things have gone wrong. She just needs to rest. Blake places her phone away in her pocket, giving up to the thought that she’s not talking to Yang today.

 _Well, it’s okay_ , she says to herself. _I'll tell her how ridiculously bad the date went the next time we switch bodies. I'm sure she’ll make one of those jokes of hers and she’ll manage to make me laugh. And I'll also ask her about the comet. What did she mean by that? I’m very curious. Fortunately, I won't have to wait long, probably tomorrow or the day after we'll change again_. Blake thinks of the smell of the chimneys in the village, the touch of the wood with which Jaune and her are building their cafeteria; the next classical literature competition at school; the thought of summer arriving and of Jaune, Pyrrha, Ruby and her finally bathing and playing in the lake. The reflection of Yang's violet eyes in the mirror every morning. Blake smiles. _Yes, I'll talk to her soon_.

With this thought in mind, she decides to finally go down the steps of the bridge, heading home. Above her head, a half-moon floats, hanging relaxed and pale in the middle of the darkened sky. Lonely, as if lost.

But, for some reason, from that day on the body changes with Yang stopped completely and never happened again.


	9. The comet Tiamat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: lots of angst. Like, an unhealthy amount of angst.  
> I'm sorry, but the plot thickens.

With a scraped sound, the tip of the pencil moves quickly across the white paper. Drawing lines. Outlining contours. Shading figures. Leaving a black trail in its way, a dark version of the comet Blake never got to see. She moves the pencil with energy, with speed, with urgency, as if the picture in her mind that she’s trying to draw were to fade away at any moment if she doesn’t hurry enough.

She draws lines. More lines. And more lines. Blake still can't get it to look good enough. Tiny particles of carbon wood stick to the clean paper fibers. A twist here, more shadow on this part, perhaps a softer tone on this side. Little by little, the scene takes shape. The strokes overlap each other, black over black, marking a pattern on the paper. The pages of Blake’s sketchbook are dyed dark. And yet, she’s not satisfied. She still can't picture the landscape that's in her mind.

Every morning Blake follows in the same footsteps as the day before. She gets up, has breakfast, puts on her uniform, combs her hair, puts on her orange bracelet, and she leaves home. She gets on the train, full of people cause it's rush hour, and goes to school. At school, the boring content of the class isn't enough to keep her attention, and Blake finds herself looking out the same window at the same exact point each day. Also, like every day, a single thought fills her mind. Her heart tightens.

She has lunch with Weiss and Ilia, who try to make her talk day after day, but they barely ever make it. They've also invited Blake to go to coffee shops, but she hasn’t found enough energy in her to say yes. Right now, Blake only has one goal and she can't waste time on anything else. Both of them have noticed her being distant, and though she tries to act normal so that they don't worry, the truth is that she feels a huge tiredness and heaviness on her shoulders at all times of the day, no matter how much or how little she’s rested the night before. That is, except when she’s drawing. Ilia has decided to give Blake some space, and she's stopped asking questions. Weiss keeps insisting though, tireless, but Blake knows how much she cares. Part of her blames herself for not telling Weiss what's happening to her, but at the same time Blake feels that it's something so intimate, so hers and Yang's, that she doesn’t think she’ll ever tell her. Anyway, she'd probably think Blake’s crazy. And lately, she’s starting to think it herself. She finds it harder and harder to tell what's part of a dream and what's really happened, as if traces of her past were blotted out like watercolors in the rain.

On her way home, Blake walks through the city and looks at the sky, so unpolluted and light blue, endless before her eyes. And so very empty. Day after day, the same lonely sky meets her gaze. And, almost not noticing it, its blue tones are becoming darker every day, and the trees by the roads are dyed with color. Slowly, Blake watches the season change. The world changes, it revolves around her. But she’s still, unable to move, seeing how everything shifts and evolves, but she can't seem go forward.

The night is her favorite time of day. When she gets home, Blake locks herself in her room and draws. She tries with all her heart to perfectly capture the landscapes carved behind her eyelids, sketching every outline, figure and shade to the smallest detail, before they disappear from her memory or blur into the fine line between dream and reality that constantly haunts her, making her doubt her own memories. Above Blake’s desk, on the walls there are dozens of pages with pieces of those sceneries, decorating the room. A river. A sanctuary. A mountain. A giant tree. A bicycle on the road. A bus stop. A lake. The pencil, warm in her hand for having held it for so many hours straight, keeps drawing more and more lines with desperation. _This is all I have left_ , Blake thinks to herself as she watches the picture in her mind begin to take shape on paper. _It has to be perfect. It's not enough yet._

On top of her desk are spread thick illustrated mountain encyclopedias that she’s borrowed from the library. There are also several rural landscape magazines, opened on random pages. Her phone, on top of all this, is also full of photos of Vale's mountain ranges. From one photo to another, from a magazine to the encyclopedia and to her phone again, Blake goes frantically through the pictures of mountains, trying to find the peak that matches the one from her memories. But one more night, she can't find it. Blake bites the inside of her cheek, nervously, until she notices the ferrous taste of blood in her mouth. She keeps moving the pencil over the paper, trying to grasp that figure before it vanishes from her head.

The days go on, and Blake keeps looking for something further away every time she looks out the train window on her way to school. And on the way home, at night the moon still hangs lonely in the wide dark sky. There are days when the rain brings with it the smell of asphalt, and they wake up in Blake the memories of a warm rain bathing her cheeks in a distant place. There are days when the weather is wonderful and the clouds float brightly, as once upon a time they lay beneath her feet. Days when the wind, mixed with the yellowish sand, blows with strength and almost brings with it the faint flickering sound of metal from an amulet at the doors of a sanctuary somewhere far away. Every morning Blake boards the train with a feeling of yearning bathing her chest, filling the edges of her body with an exhausting persistence, and she tells herself that she’s one day closer, that she doesn’t have to wait for much longer. The day-to-day things of life bring cloudy flashbacks to her mind, scenes that Blake can't connect but that throb in her trying to tell her they're real, to not let them go, and she does her best to hold on to them. Day after day, Blake finds herself in the same place, looking through the window of the school not hearing a single word of what the teacher says. _Who am I?_ Sometimes Blake wonders, thinking back to the words she once wrote in Yang's notebook. _Because I find it harder and harder to recognize myself each passing day_.

She also does her shifts at the restaurant. As if she was a robot, Blake takes orders, brings food, tends to the cash register and cleans up. She’s so mentally exhausted that a little physical strain means nothing to her at this point. Blake works, works and works until uncertainty and worry disappear from her head, and she almost feels grateful. Sometimes her shifts at the restaurant match Sun's. His brilliant personality and unkempt blonde hair are hard to miss, and when he walks into the room it still looks like he's magically lighting it up. Still, the butterflies that he once used to wake up in Blake had flown away many days ago. Sun keeps on being as close as ever with her. He comes up to her and nudges Blake playfully, asking her how she is and trying to act friendly. Blake tries hard to look him in the eye, project a smile and talk to him normally. Even so, his words still dance somewhere deep in her head. " _Now you like someone else, don't you?_ " The knot in Blake’s chest gets tighter.

The days pass, one after the other, lazy and with idleness. Some nights it's so humid that it’s almost like summer, and Blake gets the vague feeling that she wanted to be bathing in some lake with people she doesn’t remember well. Other nights it's cold and she needs to put on a jacket. Blake snuggles up in bed under the blankets and she remembers that at one time her body used to be warmer. But whatever the weather may be, every night Blake sits at her desk and draws, draws for hours and hours until those landscapes that flicker in her mind are neatly pictured on paper in her hands. A stroke, another stroke, a line, a darkened area, a sketch, another. The drops of sweat slide nimbly down Blake’s cheeks, down her jaw, and fall with a tentative sound on the sketchbook, blurring the lines. But she keeps drawing, night after night. Slowly but surely, the scenery of the village Blake saw as Yang starts to take shape. _I'm getting closer and closer_ , she tells herself, excited. _Please, just hold on a little longer_.

Lately, on her way home from school or work, Blake has started to walk long distances instead of taking the train or bus. She looks at the buildings that are constantly everywhere she goes. At the people who slide into the crowd around her, like the water in a river. Also, on rare occasions Blake goes out on the street with Weiss and Ilia, she looks at the city before them. At the flight of the birds over their heads. At the sky changing its shade every sunset. The Atlas landscape changes every day, and Blake had never noticed like she does now. Without her realizing it, huge cranes have been showing up with the passing of days, lifting gigantic iron and glass structures everywhere. Building new buildings. Destroying the old ones. And above them all, the crescent moon hovers with its lonely message and its whitish halo surrounding it, brightening the immensity of the starry sky.

“Finally...”

Blake whispers to herself, to the drawing she holds between her hands at eye level, incredibly detailed. The contoured outline of the mountains, exactly like the one that’s hiding in her mind. The layout of the houses and their shades, the position of the clock tower in the village, the stone paths that slide between them, the long metal masts with the megaphones of the town hall on them, the forests that surround the village and cover the slopes of the mountains. And in the center, the enormous lake of calm and peaceful waters that Blake has visited so much in her dreams. Not only on the wall in front of the desk, but all over the walls of the room she’s been placing drawings and sketches of the town, but this one that Blake is holding is the living image of what she’s looking for. Her masterpiece. Her key to finding _her_.

Blake has managed to replicate almost perfectly the landscape of this village by the lake. A village that, while she can't remember its name, it's carved in her heart.

“This weekend I'm going on a trip,” Blake whispers aloud, looking at the drawing with the pride dancing in the grin of her face. “Just wait for me a little longer.”

Right as she says these words, with the decision already made, Blake can feel the stress and fatigue physically leaving her body, like a balloon that loses all the air inside of it and gets flexible and movable again. Now she’s full of another feeling, one that overflows in her chest and keeps the silly smile on her lips. Expectation. Illusion. Nerves. Pride. The weekend is so far away and yet so close, her heart can't wait. For the first time in a long time, Blake falls into bed on her back and gets to relax. One by one, the muscles of her body unravel, and she takes a deep breath.

It's been a long time. Endless classes in the morning, hours of work in the restaurant without rest, and in her mind there was only one thought, meant for a single person Blake had no way of reaching. Since the day of her date with Sun, she hadn't switched bodies with Yang again. _What if something had happened to her? What if she wasn't all right? What if she needed help?_ Though Blake knows she's obviously capable to take care of herself, she can't help but worry. _What if she's fine, but the body swaps are over for one reason or another? What if they never happen again? Does that mean I'll never see her again? And why are my memories getting fuzzier and fuzzier?_

When all this madness started, Blake was pissed and upset that Yang was in her body and that she had to pretend to be her. It bothered her that her life was in the hands of someone other than Blake. And she didn't like Yang's carefree, playful personality. But after so many months of trading bodies with her, learning about her life, seeing her world through her eyes, all that is long gone. Now, if there's anybody who has to live these life experiences with her, Blake wants it to be Yang. If she has to see the world with other eyes, she wants them to be Yang's. And if she has to hold the other half of someone, Blake wants it to be the other half of Yang. And let Yang hold hers. Before, Blake could close her eyes and the next day it would be her violet stare and her tangled blond hair that she’d see in the mirror. Now, she never finds her tangles in her hair or her carefree laughter in her ears.

Blake rolls over in bed, turning herself into a little ball, placing her forehead on the cold wall. She fights back the tears behind her heavy eyelids as she tells herself that the drawing is finished, she’ll see her again soon. Blake is _going_ to see her. And that she’ll finally tell her everything she can't now, cause she's so far away, so out of her reach.

“I miss you, Yang,” Blake whispers, her voice as thin as a thread, as if by magic her words would travel to Yang. “I _will_ find you, I promise.”

Today as well, like every night just before she goes to sleep, Blake makes a wish.

Still, the next morning she doesn’t wake up as Yang.

 

* * *

 

By the time the first rays of sunlight of the day shyly enter the curtains of her room, Blake is already awake and dressed to start the day as soon as possible.

The first thing she does is gently take off the drawings she’s placed on the walls of the room one by one and places them in a simple purple folder. Finally, she takes the incredibly detailed drawing she finished last night and watches it for a second with pride. _Yes_ , Blake thinks, _you'll be the one leading me to her_. She places it carefully with the others and closes the folder, making sure the drawings don't fold or fall, and she stuffs it into the black and grey backpack with fish design that she uses on her trips. Blake rummages through her closet and grabs comfortable clothes for three days, and several pairs of underwear. She puts everything, along with the sketchbook and the folder, in the backpack. Blake looks around the room, thinking what else she might need. _Maybe it's cold there_ , she wonders. She also takes a thick jacket and puts it on. And, as Blake always does just before she goes out, she ties the lucky orange bracelet to her right wrist. Then she leaves the house.

The Atlas long-distance train station is full of people, even though it's so early in the morning. People in suits go from one place to another in a hurry, and there are also some groups of friends who, like Blake, go with hikers' backpacks to some part of Remnant. Blake buys the ticket to Vale and heads to platform four, taking confident steps.

 _Tin, tin, tiiin_. The music of the megaphones, to draw the attention of the passengers, rings throughout the station announcing the departure or entry of a new train. Blake can't hear well what it says, the words are drowned out and sound far away, lost in the babble of conversations, phones and noises of the flood of people all around that is swallowing her. She focuses on listening to the rhythmic sound of her shoes on the cold marble floor, resolutely walking to her destination.

Then, Blake freezes.

_I can't believe what I'm seeing._

“What are you two doing here?” Blake manages to say, completely stunned. She notices how her faunus ears bend down considerably. She frowns.

Right in front of Blake, with complicit and proud smiles dancing on their faces, stand Weiss and Sun.

“We thought you might need help,” Sun says. “Or company.”

Sun, again with fancy shoes, tight pants, though somewhat more comfortable than the ones he wore on their date, and his characteristic white shirt opened across the chest, gives Blake a bright smile. His hair is scruffier than usual, as if he hadn't even tried to comb it this morning. As early as it is, Blake wouldn't be surprised if he'd gotten up a short time ago. Yet there's no trace of sleep or tiredness in him, who looks at her with innocence drawn in his blue eyes.

“You're crazy if you think I was going to let you do something like this alone.”

Weiss, by his side, puffs dramatically as she shakes her head. Her icy gaze is staring at Blake, frowning slightly. Still, Blake can't find any harsh or angry feelings, only the deepest concern and interest. She’s been her friend long enough to know that if she's here, it's because she wants to help, even if she probably refuses to say so. She wears a short light blue and white dress, stylish but comfortable, very different from the elegant and refined clothes she usually wears. It seems that she really knows what she's here to do. She taps quickly with her foot on the floor, as if urging Blake to say something.

“What are you doing here?”

Blake repeats, too confused to articulate another phrase at this point. She does know what they've come to do, but she needs to hear it from them to finally believe it.

“Isn't it obvious?”

The little wrinkles on Weiss' frown disappear and her expression relaxes. She takes a step toward Blake, getting closer. Sun mirrors her. In the boy’s smile, Blake only finds sympathy and optimism.

“We’re here to come with you!”

 

* * *

 

“You've been acting strange for a few days. Ilia and I were worried about you, but you didn't reply to anything and you were kind of absent. We didn't know what to do,” Weiss shakes her head weakly while explaining. A small sting of guilt breaks through Blake’s chest. “Then it occurred to me to talk to Sun, and when he told me that you had changed a shift at work, I knew there was something else going on.”

“Sun!”

Blake fulminates him with her gaze, accusing him of giving her away. Sun raises his hands in a peaceful gesture, but shrugs, as if to say ‘What did you want me to do? I couldn't lie to her’, and Blake partly understands him, because Weiss can be very intimidating. But she still gets angry. This isn’t how she planned to start the trip. And now everything gets much more complicated.

“And if you're here,” Blake says to Weiss, who looks at her confused, “and you're here too,” Blake turns to Sun, who tilts his head, “who does our shifts at the restaurant?”

“Oh, don't worry about it,” Sun leans back on his seat with a carefree air, smiling and waving his hand. Coming from him, that actually worries Blake more.

“I've asked Ilia to cover for you at the restaurant.”

Weiss says then, rummaging through her purse and taking out her phone. She puts it in front of Blake’s face and plays a video in which Ilia shows up, with a confident smile on her face. ‘I got it, Blake! You can trust me’ she says, raising her thumb energetically to anchor the message. ‘But when you come back, I want you to tell me everything!’ she adds.

“I hate both of you...”

Blake grunts, reclining her head on the seat and closing her eyes. Of course, she doesn’t really feel what she says. She’s just upset that they have meddled in her stuff. Blake had everything so well planned to the very last detail that it bothers her that it's not going as she thought it would. But now, the three of them sitting in the comfortable, fluffy train seats, surrounded by jacketed people and travelers with excessively large backpacks, with the huge window next to them showing a landscape moving at dizzying speed, Blake knows she can’t do much to change the situation.

“Excuse me?” Weiss leans over, glaring at Blake. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Are you really angry that we came?” Sun's eyes reveal some guilt, and for a moment Blake feels bad about saying that. She shakes her head.

“No, no. I'm sorry,” She whispers, playing with the zipper of her jacket. “I just thought I'd do this alone. “

Blake appreciates them worrying about her to the point of wanting to come along, but this trip was supposed to be something special. She was going to heroically find Yang and fix this situation they’re in. But now, with them here, Blake’s going to have to pretend that the story she told Weiss is real.

When she decided to make this trip, Blake planned to be away for three days. She was going to miss classes today, Friday. And using the weekend, go three days to Vale looking for a remote village. She hadn't told Sun anything, she only asked him to change her shift. He seemed okay and didn't ask her anything personal. But with Weiss, it wasn't that easy. When Blake told her she wasn’t going to school on Friday, she started asking her a thousand questions that Blake didn't know how to answer without telling her the truth. She ended up making up that she had to visit an acquaintance in Vale and she asked her to keep the secret while Blake was away. Weiss may be very insistent, but she's respectful before anything else, so she didn't say much more.

“Don't be like that, Blake. We came here because we were worried,” Weiss replies with a completely calm expression, while Sun nods vehemently from behind. “We couldn't leave you alone, what if it's a scam?”

“A scam...?”

Blake tilts her head, puzzled. Sun, sitting in front of Weiss, leans towards Blake and stares with curiosity.

“You're going to meet an internet friend, aren't you?”

The cheerful tone with which he said it totally surprises Blake. She notices a blush climbing up her cheeks, and she rubs them with the palms of her hands to try and make it disappear, opening her eyes wide.

The night before just before bedtime, Weiss called Blake on the phone. The call started off as an avalanche of questions again, questions to which Blake barely had any answers. But a part of her felt bad seeing Weiss so worried and not telling her the truth, so she told her a white lie. She said that this girl Blake was going to see had met her on social networks. _It's the closest thing to what really happened, isn't it?_ Weiss wasn't completely satisfied, but it seemed to be enough and she didn't ask anything else. Blake thought she would've been suspecting anything by now, but when she saw her this morning at the station Blake realized how wrong she was.

“Well, it's not exactly that.”

Blake scratches the back of her head with distraction, desperately looking for another topic to talk about. But if they're going to come with her, she guesses it's only natural that they want to know who Blake is going to visit. She sighs weakly, still with her cheeks warm.

“As I see it,” the playful expression on Sun's face doesn't inspire confidence. A chill creeps up Blake’s spine slowly. “You're probably going to meet a girl you've met on a dating site!”

If Blake was drinking tea, she’s sure she would've spit it all out.

“That's not it!” She shouts, getting up slightly of her seat and leaning towards them both. Her voice sounds several tones higher and more aggressive than usual, and out of the corner of her eye, Blake sees some people looking in their direction, alarmed. She feels her ears burying in her hair in shame as her heart beats faster. Blake gently punches Sun on the arm, angrily. “It's not that, you idiot.”

“Well, you've certainly been acting rather odd lately,” Weiss adds, shrugging. Blake can't help but notice the trace of worry she tries to hide in her gaze as she takes a chocolate stick out of a Pocky's pack and offers it to her. Blake takes it, grumbling. “Don't worry, we'll take care of you from afar.”

“I don't need you to take care of me.”

Blake groans, resting her head on the back of the seat and nibbling at the chocolate, distracted. _Clearly, this trip isn’t going to go at all like I’d planned_. She resigns herself to this thought, knowing that both of them are more stubborn than Blake is and have decided to help her. She only hopes that, with or without them, the trip will be a success and she can find Yang.

“Then you've chosen the wrong friends.”

Sun winks at her, full of himself. Blake rolls her eyes. But instead of getting upset again, this time she tries to place herself in their places. To see this situation through their eyes, to better understand their reasons. She thinks of how she’s been acting around them lately. Blake hardly spoke to Sun, beyond replying when it was he who started a conversation with her, because she still felt kinda bad for how wrong everything went on their date. And with Weiss and Ilia, it hasn't been much different. Blake has been rejecting for weeks every time they asked her to hang out, and when she agreed, she used to be staring far away and with her head in the clouds, almost not paying any attention to them. A slight feeling of guilt wriggles in her chest. If it had been them and not Blake acting that way, she would’ve been worried, too. Blake would also have gone to the end of the world for them. _God, if I'm literally going to the end of the world for Yang, a girl I barely know_!

With the corner of her eye, Blake watches them. Weiss has turned to Sun, extending the little Pocky box towards him and offering him chocolate with a peaceful expression. The look Sun gives back is bright, as always, as he nods and picks up a bunch of chocolate sticks. Blake can't help but smile. _No_ , she replies mentally to Sun, _I've chosen the most obstinate, but the best possible friends_.

The loudspeaker of the train breaks her chain of thoughts. With a soft, relaxed voice, the message echoes in the train car and several other passengers, like Blake, raise their heads slightly to hear it properly. Her smile grows bigger.

“Next station: Vale...”

 

* * *

 

The changing of bodies with Yang started one ordinary day. Suddenly, without warning, Blake stumbled upon her world as she opened her eyelids. A new world, so similar to Blake’s, but completely different at the same time. And, in the same way, it ended one random day. Suddenly, without warning, Blake can no longer find that warmth she had grown to like, to love. It started and ended, and even though it lasted for months, she still doesn’t know why something like this happened to them. She hasn’t found any book, any forum, newspaper, research or study that can give her a logical explanation. And when it was over, Blake almost lost any hope that she would ever understand it. As the weeks went by, she started to suspect more and more that everything had been part of a fantastic dream. For some reason, the majority of her memories of that scenery, of that life, seem more and more distant, unreal and fuzzy. It's getting harder and harder for her to grasp them, to cling to them. To tell if they really happened, or if they are just the products of her mind, a tired mind that misses a blonde girl Blake never got to meet.

Even so, and while the doubts plant the seed of insecurity in her, something keeps her faith, her hope. Something that reassures Blake that everything was real. That Yang is real. She has proof – Blake is quite sure that she didn’t write those weird entries she has in her diary app, about those days she doesn’t remember. That was Yang, she’s certain. And also the date with Sun, Blake knows that she would never have asked him out on her own. _She’s real_ , Blake repeats herself from time to time to never forget the weight and truth of these words. Yang's a girl who really exists, Blake herself has felt her warmth and her heartbeat. She heard her breathing. She’s seen up close the vivid red that covers her eyelids, and she’s heard her fresh voice ringing in Blake’s ears. If, after all, she isn't alive, then nothing is. Yang was always so full of life that this is the only possible conclusion. Yang was real. Yang _is_ real.

And it's because of this, and especially cause the change of bodies has stopped so abrupt and strangely, that Blake is worried. Being unable to control the situation, not knowing what's going on and having no way of reaching her, makes her chest feel uneasy. She’s tried to call her again, but it never worked, and it's getting more frustrating. That's why she decided to make this little trip. Cause she has to find her, Blake has to see that she is fine. On the bad nights when she almost believes that everything is part of a dream and that nothing has been real, Blake clings to her memory, to her. If something has happened to her, if she's sick, or even if she's had an accident and that's why they don't swap anymore, Blake wants to be there for her. Besides, Blake knows Yang. She knows that she, as exaggerated and dramatic as she is, will be a hundred times more upset about this situation than Blake is. _Is she worried about me?_ A little voice whispers inside of her, and something wriggles in the lower part of her belly, a warm sensation. _Does she want to meet me as much as I do?_ Blake feels like a little girl on her first school trip, wanting to get there as soon as possible. Craving to find her. But there's a little problem.

“Wait a second,” Weiss almost shouts, once again clearly bothered and pointing her fork at Blake angrily. “Are you telling me that you wanted to go alone to find some random girl you haven’t met before, and you don’t even know where she _lives_?”

“I _do_ know where she lives, though,” Blake replies defensively, lowering her gaze to the Tupperware of food resting on her lap, on the seat of a different train heading south of Vale. “What I _don't_ know is... the exact name of the place.”

“So how did you intend to find her, you dolt?” Weiss sighs dramatically and falls on the back of the seat. ‘I'm the only competent person on this train’, she seems to think. Blake hardly blames her.

“Wait, what was your plan again?” Sun looks at Blake eager to hear what she has to say, giving her more credit than Weiss has. Blake thanks him in her mind.

“My only clue is the landscape of the village,” she admits. She sees Weiss looking at her again with the corner of her eye, still irritated. Blake digs into her backpack for the detailed drawing she finished less than a week ago, and she shows it to him with pride. “But I've made this drawing, I hope someone can recognize it.”

“It's very good, Blake!” Sun exclaims, quickly swallowing a bite of his sandwich and coughing a little. Blake chuckles.

“The drawing is fantastic, Blake,” gently placing both hands on her lap, Weiss' blue and now serene eyes find Blake’s. “But why don't you call her and ask her instead?”

“You say it as if I hadn't tried it a thousand times already,” Blake whispers, placing the paper back in the backpack with a feeling of gloom.

“Wait, you can't even _reach_ her?” Sun says a bit louder than he should have, gesturing with the sandwich still in his hand. “Not a call? Not a message? Not even by mail? Nothing?”

“No, I can't,” Blake shakes her head. “That's why I'm going to see her. I want to see if she's okay.”

That's the most sincere thing Blake has said all along the trip. She finds it feels good to get her true feelings out, even if just for a second. She feels their sympathetic glances swing over her. At another time they would've bothered her, but now Blake is just grateful that they're here without saying anything else. The train stops with a screeching sound that makes the wagon shake. They’ve made it to another station, they’ll have to get off at the next one. The people around them move in their seats, and some leave dragging heavy travel backpacks. Warm air from the outside seeps in as the doors of the train open, mixing with the cold of the air conditioning around them. These are the last strokes of autumn.

“Don't worry, Blake,” Weiss places one hand gently on Blake’s, resting on the armrest of her seat. She looks at her and finds her eyes shining with determination. The icy blue of her irises has never been so warm. “We'll help you find her.”

 

* * *

 

“This is amazing! Blake, come and see this!”

It's past noon. The train came to its last stop and that's where they got off at a local Vale line station. The sun brought them the mild heat of late autumn as they walked into the station, looking for a map to guide them. Sun squealed like a six-year-old when he came across a person in a robot costume walking around the place, probably on their way to some strange convention. The sound of Weiss' phone taking pictures echoes all over the tiny station. Blake sighs loudly, looking at a map she found at the entrance, making a great effort to ignore the boy’s voice calling out to her. _Why can't he take it seriously for a second?_

“Guys, aren't you supposed to be here to _help_ me?” Blake says. “You know, like actually _being_ _helpful_ and stuff?”

She turns around, resting her hands on her hips and looking at the scene. Sun, posing with the robot – which apparently follows Sun's game quite happily – making silly poses, while Weiss takes pictures of them with her new generation phone and its extra HD camera.

“Yeah, but look how cool this robot is!” Sun exclaims with a bright smile. “Now stand like this. Come on, Weiss, another picture!”

“On it,” Weiss says. “On it.”

What surprises Blake the most is that Weiss is playing along with him. She shakes her head, turning back to the map and trying to think clearly. She massages her temples with tiredness. _Something tells me these two aren't going to be of much help_. But she’s not going to let that shake her spirit.

Blake’s plan is as follows.

Since she doesn’t know the exact location of Yang's village – and, for some reason, it's as if the name had been completely erased from her memory –, they’ll all three go by train to find some area with a landscape that sounds familiar to Blake. She just needs to see the outline of those mountains that she’s seen so many times in her dreams, and then everything will be easier. From there, Blake is sure that their goal won't be so far away. And from that moment on, Blake’s sketches and drawings will be her best clues. _And the only ones I have_ , Blake sighs to herself. But they have to be enough to find her. She remembers that there were train tracks near the village, so she thought that walking next to the railroad is the best option. And since they got off at the station that's further south, this time they’ll be walking north, showing Blake’s drawings to the people of the area, hoping the view sounds familiar and they can tell them where to find it.

The truth is it's not the most foolproof plan in the world, but it's all Blake has. The _modus_ _operandi_ is so ambiguous and uncertain that you can hardly call it a plan. It's more like a hope of running into the right place or the right person at the right time, a stroke of good luck that will lead them in the correct direction, that will lead them to Yang. Blake clings to the drawing of the village that she now holds in her slightly trembling hands. _There aren't many towns by a lake like this one, are there?_ She has nothing to base her trust on, no secret weapon to get her where she wants to go, no ace up her sleeve when everything seems lost. She doesn’t have any sign that this is going to work. But what Blake does have is the picture of Yang imprinted behind her eyelids. The sound of her voice, the touch of her skin. The hope of seeing her again. Of hearing her again. Of touching her again. But, this time, with her own body. To hold her, never to let her go again.

So, with her motivation as high as the clouds that protect them from the sun, Blake starts taking big steps to the only taxi in front of the station, ready to talk to the driver and ask them about a town lost in the middle of nowhere.

 

* * *

 

“I'll never find her...”

With a completely gloomy feeling weighing her in the chest like an iron anvil sinking into the sea, Blake sits at the bus stop and bows her head, letting her ears fall weakly forward. All the optimism that overflowed in every pore of her skin a few hours ago, when they got off the train and started talking to people, has completely vanished.

The person Blake asked first was the taxi driver. He told her, in a strangely edgy way, that he didn't know the place. Blake understood, and she didn't let that discourage her. Then they went to the nearest town, and there they asked as many people as they could. There was no luck at the police station. Neither in the 24-hour shop, nor in the souvenir shop, in the inn, in the restaurant or in the bar. Blake has asked farmers, primary school students, high school students, the elderly, elegantly dressed people, women and children... all the people she could find, regardless of their appearance or age. But everything has been completely in vain. Some have been blunt; others have been very kind and have tried to help. Others have been indifferent, and others were confused. Some even showed Blake photographs and maps of the area, but nothing was familiar. With every person she’s spoken to who couldn't tell her what she was looking for, her hope has slowly faded. The optimism that was boiling in her chest has slowly quietened and died down. Still, Blake hasn’t given up. She thinks she’s talked to more people in one day than she’s talked to in a whole year. On top of that, they’ve learned that the local buses in this area of Vale come one every two hours, so they couldn't move as fast as Blake had planned.

Tired and discouraged, she decided to change her strategy.

When the bus arrived, Blake felt a small wave of renewed hope and rushed up, wanting to talk to other passengers and ask them about her drawing. But it turned out that they were alone. Finally, with no strength in her body to ask the driver, they sat in the back of the bus and didn't move until they reached the end of the ride, a distant and apparently deserted country area. Blake sighs weakly, letting the air pass through her dehydrated lips, and she wonders if they can really find the village at this pace _. I promised that I'd find you_ , Blake thinks to herself, but each passing hour that thought seems more distant and even impossible to her, almost like a dream.

While she was talking to everyone that passed her by, Sun and Weiss have been playing word chains, playing cards, games on the phone, ‘rock, paper or scissors’ and eating. They've kind of helped, yes. Weiss has talked to more people than Sun, and she’s cared about checking the bus lines, keeping Blake hydrated and telling her to eat something once in a while. But after a few hours, like Sun, she also got tired and joined his games, while Blake kept searching desperately. _At least they're having a good time on this trip_ , Blake thinks, though that doesn't make her feel any better. It makes her feel more alone. Especially because they fell asleep on the bus ride, both resting their heads on one of Blake’s shoulders. But she didn't want to wake them up, they must've been tired. Looking at their relaxed faces, Sun with his mouth slightly open and Weiss with the most peaceful expression Blake has ever seen on her, she lets them rest. After all, they are here for her.

Weiss and Sun, who are now drinking sodas sitting by her side at another bus stop, turn to Blake as they hear the muffled tone in her voice and speak at the same time.

“Where has your determination gone, Blake?” Weiss scowls.

“You can't give up just yet, Blake!” Sun waves his arms vigorously.

Blake sighs so loudly that for a moment, she fears that her lungs will come out; full of this lightly fresh air that marks the end of one season and the beginning of another. She clenches her fists in her lap, gathering there all the helplessness she feels, letting it build up until her nails hurt her flesh. She opens her hands slowly, releasing that emotion, waiting for the autumnal breeze to take it away and renew her strength. Let hope and optimism come back to her. A delightful smell fills her nose. _Food_. Her stomach growls, upset, and then Blake realizes that she didn't listen to Weiss the whole trip and hasn’t eaten anything since this morning on the train. She shakes her head, trying to clear her thoughts.

“You know what? You guys are right. I just need a break,” Blake says, standing up with resolution. She points to the road ahead of them. “Would you like to get something to eat?”

 

* * *

 

“Some Vale noodles for me.”

Weiss, with her usual aura of elegance that enfolds every movement she makes, places the restaurant's fine menu on the table and gently rests her clasped hands on it. Sun nods with conviction.

“For me some Vale noodles too.”

“Ah... Then...” Blake turns her head towards the table absent-mindedly, looking away from the window and the stream of thoughts in which she’d been buried until a second ago. “I'll have one of those, too.”

“Three noodles, got it!

The waitress answers, a girl that Blake thinks will be more or less their age, with an energetic voice that sounds all over the place. With the corner of her eye, Blake sees her walking away to the kitchen with cheerful steps. Her hair's a gleaming orange she’s never seen before, as colorful and lively as the almost electric turquoise in her eyes. She wears a white apron from where she's taken a small notebook and a pen to write down their order, but beneath it, her clothes are as striking as she is, a combination of pink and black with a white top that Blake finds too trendy to be worn by someone who works in the middle of nowhere. She leans against the kitchen door, fidgeting nervously with the fine cloth of the apron.

“Three noodles, Ren,” she repeats, constantly moving. _Is this girl ever gonna stay still?_

“I'm on it,” Blake hears a calm male voice further away in the kitchen. “Thank you, Nora.”

“No problem!” Blake can almost hear her smile as she goes inside. “Let me help you, Ren.”

She practically jumps inside the other room, and the door closes behind her, so Blake doesn’t hear anything else. She turns her attention back to the landscape beyond the window on her right, her head resting on the back of her hand, oblivious to the conversation between Weiss and Sun.

The waitress – Nora – comes back after a while with three bowls of noodles. Blake is almost surprised that, seeing how jumpy she is, she didn't drop one along the way. When she puts it in front of her with a warm, friendly smile, Blake’s stomach rumbles again and the girl laughs. Blake blushes slightly and mutters a ‘thank you’ that, Blake thinks, only she with her faunus ears could hear. Nora goes away happily without saying anything else, and Blake starts to eat. The noodles are delicious. Apparently, Vale noodles have tenderloin steak, vegetables and a lot of soft and delicious noodles in a white bowl with a design that reminds of a Greek pattern. As Blake eats, she feels the energy slowly come back to her body. Drop by drop, the warmth of the bowl runs through her from head to toe; clearing away the despair and worry she’d been bearing when she walked into the restaurant. Blake feels like a phone that after long hours of activity has been plugged into the power grid and can rest while she chews the noodles and vegetables avidly. Still, her head keeps spinning. And, after much thought, she comes to a single decision.

“Hey, Weiss,” Blake says, the words taste bitter in her mouth. “Do you think we can come back to Atlas today?”

The girl lifts her head from her bowl and looks at Blake in disbelief, tilting her head a little as if she hadn't heard right. Blake focuses her gaze on her ice-blue eyes, so confused and, a second later, so frustrated, like the feeling that dances between Blake’s heart and lungs and almost squeezes her chest. Without needing to say anything to her, she understands. She understands the thought that's going through Blake’s head because she’s also been thinking about it. There are no more exits. There are no more people to ask. There are no more clues. There are no more options. _There's nothing else I can do now_ , Blake tells herself with her fists clenched under the table, feeling helpless, wondering at what point she lost all the determination she had the night before and even this morning.

“At this hour it's going to be hard to find a train,” Weiss shakes her head. As if agreeing with her, a night bird – an owl, probably – hoots outside the window. Blake didn't realize that the sun was already starting to set. When Weiss speaks again, her voice sounds tired. “Let me check the train schedules. If not, we can find a place to stay for the night and we can go home in the morning.”

“That sounds great, thank you.”

Blake’s voice makes a muffled echo in her ears. Or maybe it's this halo of disappointment that seems to cover everything around her, taking away its color. Maybe she’s just tired. Blake tries to outline a thank-you smile for Weiss, who nods as she grabs her phone out of her bag to look at the schedules. Sun, sitting in front of Blake with the bowl still in his hands, finally raises his eyes.

“Are you sure that's what you want, Blake?”

He asks her with a frown. Blake can see the contradiction in his gaze, she knows he feels exactly like Blake does. But she’s out of options. She knew it wasn't a perfect plan, far from it, but she had wanted it to work so hard that now that she’s run out of leads to get to her, Blake feels empty. _You had made a promise to her_ , a voice repeats in a loop in her head, hammering against her. _You had promised her that you'd find her_. _And here you are, giving up_. She bites the inside of her cheek.

 _No, that's not what I want_ , Blake would like to yell at Sun. _I want to find Yang. I want to see that she's safe. I want to touch her with my own hands. Hug her. To feel her warmth, her blond locks of hair between my fingers, the lavender of her eyes hanging over me. I want to know that she's all right. I want to know that she's real_. Blake feels tears start to pile up behind her eyes, and she looks away. To the window. Anywhere. But she’s left without any clue, no reasons, no energy, and all the roads that led her to Yang now are blurred and indistinct.

Since she can't think of anything coherent to answer him, Blake focuses on gazing past the scenery on her right. The sun is still visible over the edge of the mountains, sinking down more and more, in an orange shade that's painfully familiar to her, but so far and so unknown at the same time. It slowly descends, weakly bathing the fields beside the road, passing through the glass and reaching her.

“I don't know how to say it,” Blake hears her voice before she even knows what she’s going to say, as if the words came right out of her, more for herself than for others. “I feel like I'm wandering around in circles, with no clues at all. But I feel that she's so close… That, if I give up now, I may never…”

If only she could see the view of her village once more, Blake would know how to find her. She’d get to her in the blink of an eye, in a heartbeat. But all she has are drawings, sketches of the scenes that still hang weakly in her memory. Maybe this plan was destined to fail from the start, but her need to find Yang was so strong that she let her heart guide her this time, as Blake hardly ever does. The best option would be going back to Atlas and working out a new plan. Here and now she may not be able to do anything else, but Blake won't give up. _Not until I find you_.

She digs into her backpack with fish patterns that her father gave her several years ago and she pulls out the detailed drawing of Yang's village. It’s objectively a very common town, scattered with houses that surrounded a circular lake in the center. Maybe that's the only thing special about it, but it still hasn't been enough to find it. When Blake finished the drawing a few nights ago, she felt as if she was about to find some answers, something extremely important and crucial, but now…

“That's Patch, right?”

_Huh?_

Blake turns like a spring. At the speed of light, her ears stretched high above her head. From the corner of her eye Blake sees an apron. As she turns, the silhouette of Nora, who had come to fill their glasses with water, appears before Blake, a huge smile showing all teeth and bright turquoise eyes. As if someone had pressed a button that was hidden somewhere inside of her, Blake feels as if all her senses had awakened at once and she lights up like a Christmas tree.

“Did you draw it? Can I see it?” She asks, taking the paper from Blake’s hands without waiting for an answer and starts to analyze it, nodding in approval. Blake finds a nostalgic gleam in her gaze and she wonders why. Nora looks at it from all angles and doesn't stand still for a second. Then she nods to herself again, and raises her voice in the kitchen's direction. “Ren, come and see this! It's a very good drawing!”

Sun with his mouth open, Weiss with a look full of interest and Blake with her mind totally blank like a newly bought blackboard watch as the cook – Ren – walks out of the kitchen calmly. He's a tall boy with long black hair with a silky look and a single pink strand falling over his face. His eyes, surprisingly of the same pale pink color show serenity, totally opposite Nora's turquoise electricity. Blake guesses he'll be around their age too, but for some reason he looks older, more mature. When he gets to their table, he crosses his arms with a thoughtful look, studying Blake’s drawing that Nora is so happily showing him, almost as if it were hers.

“Whoa, it's true, it's the old Patch,” he mutters, more for himself than for them. “This brings many memories.”

_The old...?_

“Ren and I used to live in Patch,” Nora explains, a touch of nostalgia in her voice that Blake doesn’t quite fit in. Ren nods, a small smile appearing on his face, not lifting off his sight of Blake’s sketch, placing a hand affectionately over the girl's shoulder.

_Patch...?_

_Patch..._

_Patch!_

Suddenly, Blake remembers everything. As if that five-letter word had hit her with the force of a tsunami, ripping out memories she had buried for some reason. Blake rises from the chair in a quick motion, resting her hands on the table with a euphoric smile drawn on her lips.

“Patch... That's it, the village of Patch! Why didn't I remember the name? Patch!” She claims, intoxicated by the memories and images of Yang's town, feeling closer to her than she’d been in weeks, with her hope renewed and almost reaching the clouds. “It's not far from here, is it? Can we go? Can we go now?”

Blake feels like she’s on top of the world. Even if the only thing she’s remembered is the name of a little place in the middle of nowhere, she feels that she has the master key that will lead her right to Yang. Right now she’s invincible. Yang is miles away from her, but this time she knows which way to go. Every step Blake takes will bring her inches closer until there is none left to separate them. And then, when she finds her and can truly hold her in her arms, Blake will never let her go again. Her heart leaps ecstatically, and this time it's not tears of despair that build up behind her eyelids, but of relief, of joy, of pride. _Patch, Patch! How did I forget?_ With its fields of white rice and gold-colored wheat. With the mountains surrounding it making amazing landscapes. Birds fluttering in the morning at the window, hiding in the trees and bushes with their cheerful songs. The lake and its reflection of a clear blue sky. The clouds surrounding the top of the hills. Autumn lingering in every pore of her skin. The silhouette of Yang in the mirror, with the violet of her eyes glowing as brightly as the color of the sky when the sun has set. _It's Patch! Yang, I'm so close!_

One, two, three seconds go by without anyone saying anything. Silence, for some reason, pops Blake’s bubble of ecstasy, and she finds herself back in the real world. She discovers four pairs of eyes fixed on her, like glued to her skin. Weiss has a frown and an unreadable look. Sun stares at her with unease. And Ren and Nora look at each other in a strange way.

“You... You don’t know?” Nora starts. It's the quietest tone of voice Blake has heard her since she walked through the door, and on her face, there's no trace of the effusivity and energy she's had until now. A chill runs down Blake’s back.

“Patch was...” Ren tries to explain himself, squeezing the grip of his hand over the girl's shoulder, looking away with a complicated expression that Blake can't read.

“Wait, Patch?” Weiss opens her eyes wide, as if she had joined all the pieces of an invisible puzzle and now everything made sense to her. Confusion, worry, surprise, sadness. Her gaze is clouded with mixed feelings, and she gives them all to Blake when she crosses her icy irises with her.

“It can't be!” As if finally understanding, Sun opens his mouth and stares at Weiss, placing his hands strongly on the table with a heavy bang that sounds in Blake’s ears for a few endless seconds. It's like everyone knows what's going on except her, and the uncertainty burns like a merciless fire in her chest. Blake feels the room getting smaller, or maybe it's that she doesn’t get enough oxygen in her lungs. Sun's words collide with her confused mind like a hurricane, ready to shatter everything. “Wait, wasn't there where that comet...?”

“What...?”

Blake hears her voice far away, as if someone who isn't her was speaking in another place, in another time. Like if she was a simple viewer of her life, of what's happening around her. Blake can't understand what they say, for some reason they get to her head, almost like words from another language, one which is indecipherable only to her. She looks back at them one by one, looking for something in their foreign expressions that would give her a clue, the final piece of the endless riddle that doesn't make sense and of which she has more and more loose bits and pieces, so many that she feels like she’s drowning in them. _Patch...? The comet...?_

Somewhere in her mind, Blake feels that the shadow of something wants to come to the surface. As if there were something buried under layers and layers of trivial memories. Something that had been dormant for a long, long time. So much that she had completely forgotten that it was once there, that it was once relevant. And now it burns, it burns in her mind and between her temples, wanting to go out into the light, to go out to a place where she can know what it is. What is it that hides in the depths of Blake’s memory and that every now and then gives her such a feeling of missing and yearning and craving that it stings, it hurts everywhere.

_What is it? What is it? What's going on?_

_Patch? The comet..._

_Yang!_

 

* * *

 

The lonely, shivering cry of a black bird hovers above their heads, echoing grim all over the valley.

The high rusty metal fences that keep people away from the entry are, as well, ringed by a series of orange cones washed out by the sun, lined up and linked by the typical black and yellow police tape that hangs with dust. A barricade that blocks their way, casting long shadows on the cracked asphalt that stretches under their feet and in which crevices, nature has already started to grow, taking over what's left abandoned.

According to the Basic Law of Measures against Disasters, Blake can't go one step further from this point. More green gnawed plastic fences, attached by a thick tube of colorless steel, confirm this rule. Around them, small hedges and weeds of wild plants claim the area, with no one to cut them.

<<KEEP OUT>>

<<KEEP OUT>>

<<KEEP OUT>>

More and more old signs covered in ivy and those pale plastic police tapes are printed with those words. Blake runs to them. When she’s close enough, she circles the posters, jumps over the tapes, the fences, the stakes, she doesn’t care. She doesn’t have any air left in her lungs, but she keeps running until there are no more signs to surpass, until there is no more floor to run on. Only then does Blake look down on the cliff she’s on.

And below is the village of Patch.

Or, rather, what is left of it after a massive force shattered it into pieces and the lake swallowed up what was left of it practically in its entirety.

Beneath her feet lies an empty, desolate, terrifyingly silent, smashed immensity. What once was a small village full of life, of kind people, of rituals, of children running through the streets, of dreams scattered throughout the classes, of old people talking about past battles, of megaphones that resound, of traditional music, of the crackle of fire, of the reflection of the moon on the lake. A town bathed in the stationary autumn, completely erased from the map. Blake can no longer see the streets, the posts, the houses, the town hall, the library, the school, the roads, the bus stop or the sanctuary. Chunks of broken stone from some building drift here and there, piling up on the edges of the lakes, covered with branches and vegetation. In the more distant places, the roads leading to the village are ripped, abruptly cut in half, falling apart. A bird flies over the area where the train station should have been. Further down, some red, discolored and rusty wagons lie bruised and out of the rails, completely lost their shape, with plants growing everywhere. Next to it, what is left of the tiles of the train station is making a mess of ceramics, stones and rotted wood on the rubble-filled floor. Farther away, some cars completely damaged have managed to not be sucked into the water, covered with broken glass.

Blake gazes from one point to another, from a dilapidated building to what's left of a road, looking for something, anything that tells her that this is not the town she saw in her dreams a few weeks ago. But she can't find anything. Wherever Blake looks, she can only see the massive egg-shaped silhouette of the lake, and the even larger lagoon of a new lake, the waters have flooded everything that might have been left after the disaster. Now, the water covers everything, and there's nothing left.

“Hey… Are you sure this is it?” Sun asks her with a weak voice, walking towards Blake. She can't take her eyes off the terrifying landscape that stretches endlessly in front of them.

“Of course not!” Weiss says, not waiting for her answer, making a careless gesture with her hand. Yet the way her smile flickers shows the same fear and insecurity that weighs on Sun and Blake. “Blake, you have to be mistaken.”

“This is it…”

Blake whispers, a thread of voice so thin that for a moment she fears it will break. Blake feels fragile, vulnerable, watching the dreadful chaos and destruction that has struck this beautiful place. Its houses, its streets, its people. There’s nothing left. _There’s nothing_ , Blake thinks to herself, helplessness opening with grotesque force a hole in her chest and leaving her empty, trembling. She feels the palms of her hands grow cold, and then her whole body, as if the temperature had suddenly dropped two, three, five, ten degrees. Blake wants to look around, see the expressions on her friends' faces and find some comfort. She wants someone to tell her that they’ve brought her to the wrong village. Somebody to pinch her and wake her up in her bed. Or rather, wake up being Yang, knowing she's okay. But none of that happens, Blake’s feet are glued to the ground like if she was made of concrete, sinking deeper and deeper as if the floor beneath her feet wasn't made of stone but of quicksand. And her eyes are fixed on the frightening sight that threatens to swallow her, too. Houses, cars, roads. Only rubble remains. The remnants of what was once beautiful and completely destroyed in a millisecond. And that's when Blake understands why she’s so attracted to this. _It's because I'm just like this place_ , she thinks to herself. A second ago Blake was full of hope, of dreams, of the determination to find Yang. But it took her a legit second to lose all that, to lose everything. The sight of the town in ruins, completely demolished, hits her like a wrecking ball and turns her into rubble too. And they are heavy, they weigh her in the chest, as if the lack of what was never hers was the heaviest burden in the world.

“Don’t you see?” Weiss' eyes are sharp, as if she was correcting a child who said the wrong answer. “What you say is wrong.”

“This is it!” Blake insists, frowning and walking a step towards her in anger. As if rage could give her back everything Blake feels she’s lost. “I have no doubt! It's Patch, it's this place!”

“But Blake...” Sun starts, looking down as soon as she turns to him, like intimidated.

“No! I'm certain, Sun,” Blake looks around her, extending her hands and pointing here and there. She feels her chest about to explode. It hurts, _it hurts_. “It's not just the village. This high school, the mountains around it, the train station, the roads... I remember everything so perfectly!”

Blake thinks that she’s yelling at this point. she can't feel anything, only the pain of the nails in her hands while the memories of the town fill her field of vision.

Behind them stands the building that was Yang's school, blackened by a layer of soot and debris, of a translucent black and broken window glass. She recognizes it, they are in the schoolyard from where the entire lake can be seen and that Blake once drew in art class.

“So this is the town you've been looking for? Are you telling me this is where your internet friend lives?” Weiss takes one, two steps towards Blake, holding her gaze with skepticism, an incredulous smile frozen on her face and her eyes so tired and sad. “Can't you see it's impossible!? You can't have forgotten that disaster that killed hundreds of people three years ago! You remember that, don't you, Blake?!”

It was as if her words vanished all the fire and anger that was burning inside Blake. She’s suddenly left with nothing, like she’d forgotten why she was so angry a second ago. And she also runs out of air. Blake looks down at her trembling hands. She opens her fists and discovers several half-moon patterns drawn deep in her skin. When she looks up again, she finds no harshness in Weiss, but a deep desolation. She takes another step towards Blake, raising one hand to place it comfortingly on her. Blake moves back away from her, unable to lose sight of the ice in her eyes.

“They… _died_?”

Blake wonders how it’s possible that her voice trembles in a single word, which is all she manages to say. Her mouth feels dry, she tries to swallow but she can't. Sun takes a tentative step in her direction, like afraid that she might run. And for a moment Blake considers it. Running anywhere until none of this seems real. At least, not real enough to destroy her on the inside and leave her picking up the pieces one by one. Right now she feels like she has nothing, the most absolute and painful nothing. Because who should be there will never be. Though Blake would swear that she’s looking at her, her gaze goes beyond Weiss, beyond even the school, as if something was drawing it in and Blake didn't have the strength to resist. She stares at a frozen point, her eyes unfocused and the lump in her chest getting tighter and tighter. She grasps her shirt over it tightly, shaking.

“She died... three years ago?”

Her thread of voice is broken, and the thread that kept her emotions stable breaks as well. A single tear rushes down Blake’s cheek, leaving behind a trail of the deepest sorrow in its way, softly outlining her jaw until it falls to the ground with a small sound that she finds deafening.

_Yang is dead._

Blake remembers the first time she saw her eyes, as violet as the color of the sky when the sun has set. So full of magic.

_Yang died three years ago._

She remembers the touch of her silky blond hair between her fingers. How it slipped smoothly, as unpredictable and wild as she herself.

_Yang doesn’t exist anymore._

She remembers when she heard her laugh for the first time. As fresh and new as the sound of the river flowing down its stream for the first time since winter ended. So cheerful and warm, like the breeze that tells you summer is coming.

_I’ll never find her in this lifetime._

She remembers how smiley she was in each and every one of the photos that were splashed around the sanctuary. She was little, with a few missing teeth, looking proudly at Ruby as a baby, next to her father and in the arms of a lady with a sweet expression and soft dark hair. Blake remembers that she never asked her about Summer.

_Yang is dead._

‘I'm with you, even if I'm not physically there’. Those words she once wrote on Blake’s phone echo in her heart, along with her wish to hold her that this morning seemed so real and close, but now feels like nothing more than a beautiful but surreal dream.

 _Yang_ … Blake whispers in her mind like a mourning, like a prayer. The weight of reality hits her and is the hardest blow of all. _Yang_ … The air in her lungs fades and she feels like she’s drowning. _Yang_ … Every muscle in her body stiffens up, desperately trying to build a fortress to protect a place where there's nothing left, where there's no one. _Yang_ … Blake shakes her head. First weakly, then with more strength, until she realizes that she can't shake Yang’s face from her mind. In the sanctuary. By the lake. In the schoolyard. At the bus stop. Under the stars. The yellow of her hair. The orange of her bow. The lilac of her eyes. She is everywhere. And there is nothing left.

_All because of a comet._

_A comet..._

_The comet!_

Suddenly, something _clicks_ and Blake realizes. She feels, in terror, how all the pieces finally fit together one by one. And what was buried under layers and layers of memories in her head finally comes to light.

Blake remembers that comet that colored the Atlas sky with its trail three years ago, when she was on top of their building with her father and mother watching the wonderful scene next to her on a cool autumn night. The countless number of shooting stars that dotted the sky in all directions, covering the vault with their brightness from the very outside of this world, falling west of her city. That stellar landscape that was like drawn straight out of a dream, a beautiful one, a magical one. Blake can remember the thrill that filled every inch of her skin then, the mystical and almost electrifying energy.

She remembers the comet falling, splitting in two and getting lost in the sky beyond where her eyes could see.

_Yang… died at that moment?_

“It can't be,” Blake shakes her head in disbelief, talking very fast. She sees her friends staring at her. “No, no. This is wrong. It can't be. Yang can't be dead.”

“Blake...” Weiss takes another step up to her, and this time Blake lets her.

“I have proof,” Blake replies immediately before Weiss tries to convince her that she’s wrong or mistaken or whatever. _Cause I know I'm right_. Blake pulls out her phone with trembling hands and it almost falls to the ground. Sun comes up to her, curiously though not daring to say anything.

She starts looking frantically for the texts that Yang left written in her diary app, as fast and as urgently as if the battery was going to run out forever if she doesn’t hurry enough. The diary entries are still there. A shaky sigh leaves Blake’s lips, relieved.

But before she can show them anything, something strange happens on the screen.

_Huh?_

Blake opens her eyes really wide. For a moment she thought the letters were moving. Blake blinks once, twice, but the letters are still flickering.

“What...?”

First a word, then another.

One by one, the phrases Yang wrote turn into meaningless symbols. Letter by letter, emoji to emoji, all the words are changed into unreadable words, and then into incomprehensible whole texts. Until, eventually, the entries that Yang wrote in a cheerful yellow color flicker for an instant as if they were candles, vanishing and one by one being erased until there's nothing left. As if some invisible thing were clicking on the ‘Delete’ icon. And so, while Blake watches in horror, powerless to do anything to stop it, all of Yang's texts are wiped out before her eyes.

“They're gone...”

Blake manages to mumble, more to herself than to Weiss and Sun, who still have their eyes fixed on her, waiting to see those proofs that Blake can no longer show them. She feels as if the whole world is crumbling into pieces, and she finds herself beneath them all trying to carry the weight, the burden, the pain. Trying to flee to the surface, to breathe. Trying to find someone within the chaos, someone that was long gone. And Blake knows she won't be able to hold on much longer.

“Why...? “

She whispers, a sob ends up breaking anything Blake was going to say. All the strength she had left leaves her body and her legs, suddenly so weak, they can't hold her weight. Blake falls to the ground in tears. Weiss looks in a strange way at Sun, but soon they’re both kneeling by her side, holding her without saying anything more.

The cry of the black bird keeps on echoing in the valley, high above, far away.

 

* * *

 

The name of the comet is Tiamat. The comet Tiamat. Its orbit around the sun lasts 1200 years, and casually came to its perigee in October three years ago, just at the same time of the year they are now. Its orbit is extremely long, especially if you compare it with other comets. Take, for example, Halley's comet. Its orbital period is 76 years, and yet each person can only see it once in a lifetime, and with luck. That is why the discovery of the comet Tiamat was a groundbreaking event in the entire world, and the seven billion people who live on this planet were on the edge of their seats, holding their breath and feeling the luckiest guys in history cause they had the opportunity of seeing that magical and historical sight that was the passing of the comet Tiamat through their sky. No one would have expected what happened next.

The comet's semi-axis is also massive – it stretches over 16.8 billion kilometers. As a result of its titanic proportions, there was no one on the planet who didn't want to see it with their own eyes. Scientists predicted that its perigee would be about 120,000 kilometers from the earth. That is, when it passes by once every 1200 years, leaving behind a bright blue tail in the fully visible night sky, it is even closer than the Moon. Everyone, Blake included, was looking forward to the arrival of the comet Tiamat three years ago.

Maybe for that reason, or maybe because they didn't have enough technology, no scientist could foresee that the comet's core would shatter as it passed close to the earth until they had it on their heads. Nor did they predict that inside the ice core there was hidden a devilish rock of 40 meters of diameter. A fragment of the comet became a meteor and, at the destructive speed of more than 30 kilometers per second, rushed to the Earth's surface. The point where it fell was Vale. And, tragically, the area turned out to be populated – it fell in the small village of Patch.

Just that day the autumn festival was being celebrated in the village. It impacted at 20:42h, in the place where the festival was taking place and which would certainly be full of shops and tourists, the sanctuary of the God of Creation.

When the meteor fell, the sanctuary area was instantly destroyed. The devastation not only destroyed the houses and the forest, but it also dug a deep hole in the earth's surface, making a crater up to a kilometer in diameter. A second after the impact, a 4.8 magnitude earthquake was felt in regions five kilometers away. Fifteen seconds later, a powerful hurricane blast swept through the village, destroying what was still on its feet at the time.

The final count of all the dead was more than 500. That was almost a third part of the village's total population. So, the small, peaceful village of Patch became the scene of the worst documented meteor debacle in human history.

Because the crater that formed the meteor was created next to the existing Lake Patch, the water flowed into it and ended up making a single lake in the shape of an eight, now known as the New Lake Patch.

In contrast, the part of the village farthest from the high school, for example, wasn’t so badly damaged. Still, the approximately 1,000 people who escaped the disaster soon left. Before one year after the disaster passed, the town council decided that the maintenance of the town was unviable. Fourteen months after the meteorite fell, the village of Patch also disappeared from the register.

 

All these facts are real and confirmed, like the ones that already appear in the textbooks, telling how that tragedy happened. Blake was also aware of the situation. It was all over the news, on all the Atlas screens. It was practically impossible not to know what had happened. Three years ago, Blake remembers going up to the rooftop and seeing the sky dotted with the blue and magical colors dragged by the comet Tiamat, so big in the sky right before her eyes.

_Still..._

_None of this makes sense._

Because up until a month ago, Blake spent her days living like Yang in Patch. She walked its streets, talked to its people, went to the school, listened to what the elders had to say, visited the sanctuary, walked through its forests, through its mountains, Blake saw her reflection in the only Patch Lake there was. And everything was there perfectly in its place. It was tangible. It was real.

The only half-reasonable idea left in Blake’s head is to think that what she saw, the place where she lived as Yang, isn’t Patch. Maybe the comet and the change of bodies with her are two unrelated facts. _It could be, couldn't it?_ But at the same time she thinks about it, Blake knows it can't be true. Maybe this is the illogical reason she’s been looking for all this time, why they started to switch bodies. _But if so,_ _what good is it? If I can’t see her anymore?_ Blake bites the inside of her cheek unconsciously. _Why make me suffer like this, all for nothing?_

She turns a page. And another. And another one. Sitting at one of the uncomfortable tables in the municipal library of the town closest to Patch, Blake turns pages and pages of volumes while her head keeps spinning pointlessly, like a dog chasing its tail. From the bottom of her heart, the voice of someone she don't know doesn't stop whispering to her that the place Blake has been is none other than Patch.

 ‘Complete Chronicle: Patch, the village that disappeared.’

‘Patch, the village that sank in one night.’

‘The tragedy of the comet Tiamat.’

These are some of the titles of the thick volumes that Weiss and Blake are reading. Sun is rummaging through the shelves, bringing all the books that have something to do with the town. With a heavy heart, Blake discovers that all the old Patch photographs in these compilations are identical to the village of her memories, the place where she lived as Yang for months. The school Ruby went to every morning, an energetic smile on her face as she said goodbye to Blake. The sanctuary of the God of Creation, where Grandma Calavera worked as a priestess and took care of it with great affection. The unnecessarily large parking lot where the candidates for mayor sometimes gave their speeches. The two bars placed next to each other and in which they never got in. The supermarket that looked like a barn and where they always offered Blake seeds of plants that she’d never heard of before. And, of course, the high school, where Pyrrha, Jaune and her have spent many hours together. All those places are clearly carved into Blake’s mind, as if she had barely been there yesterday. Seeing with her own eyes the town in ruins a few hours ago has made her remember, for some reason, every detail that was already fading away. All her memories are as clear as the day now. And that makes it all even more painful.

As Weiss reads aloud and next to her an article she's stumbled upon, Blake finds herself barely paying attention to her words. Each passing minute it’s getting hard to breathe, as if a giant, frozen hand were holding and squeezing her organs tightly. She tries to take small breaths to get some oxygen into her body, but they sound more like small, silent panting. Her heart beats in frenzy, apparently with no intention of calming down, and she feels dizzy. Blake rests her elbows on the table, burying her face in her hands. Having cried before has left her more drained than she already was, and they haven't exactly had a peaceful day.

“Are you all right?”

Blake doesn’t know at which point Weiss stopped reading the article. She feels a comforting hand on her shoulder and she turn to look at her. Blake blinks several times until Weiss’ empathetic blue eyes meet hers, full of concern.

“Yes,” Blake lies, shaking her head weakly and forcing a small smile. “I'm sorry, you can keep reading.”

Weiss nods and says nothing else, focusing again on the thick leather book in front of her.

“’Patch High School. The last sports festival.’”

Blake gets closer to look at the picture that shows the page. In it, several high school students that she doesn’t recognize appear in what looks like a relay race, or something like that. On the right side of the image, as if they were from another team, there are two girls that somehow ring a bell. One wears a long copper ponytail neatly gathered on top of her head, and shows gleaming emerald eyes full of determination. The other has a long blonde mane that shines brightly in the photo, partly wrapped up by an orange ribbon. Her face is frozen in a cheerful expression, in the middle of laughter that she probably directed to the redhead. In her eyes, a soft lavender shines intensely.

Blake thinks she’s out of breath.

For a moment, she feels like a string of blood is running down her neck, but when she rubs it, it turns out to be just transparent sweat. She stares at the photo, unable to take her eyes off it, her heart beating in her ears. Weiss looks like she's going to talk, but just then Sun shows up behind them.

“Blake…”

When she looks up, Blake sees the most grieved and devastated face she has ever seen on him. Right now, no one would’ve said that Sun is that bright, cheerful, carefree boy who lights up the rooms with his presence. Now he just looks like a little boy, lost and frightened. He holds something in his hands. Blake looks down and takes the thick black book he offers her, placing it on the table in front of the three of them. In its sturdy jet-black cover the following golden words are solemnly read.

‘The comet catastrophe in the village of Patch: list of names of the deceased’.

Blake swallows. Her mouth tastes bitter.

“Blake, you don't have to do this,” Weiss places a hand on Blake’s and squeezes firmly. She nods, digging deep within her for the last drop of strength she has left.

“It's okay, Weiss. I _need_ to do this,” she squeezes her hand back before she moves her own away. Weiss nods weakly, holding her breath.

Blake slowly turns the pages, afraid of what she’ll find on the next one. Each page is an endless list of the names of the victims, sorted by address according to the district of the village where they lived. She follows the names with her finger so that she doesn’t skip a single one as she passes more pages, a cold sweat wrapping her whole body like a cold blanket. Blake’s finger stops on top of two names that are familiar to her.

 

**Jaune Arc (17)**

**Pyrrha Nikos (17)**

 

“Pyrrha and... Jaune...?”

Her voice sounds like a broken whisper that bounces endlessly in the silence of this huge empty library. She reads it again. And then another time. _I can't believe this is really happening._

Blake remembers Pyrrha's closeness and warmth, as if she were the older sister Blake never had. She remembers the first thing she thought when she saw her was that she was beautiful. With that coppery hair, shiny and flawless day after day. Always with the right words on the tip of her tongue, never being anything but kind and sweet to her, to Jaune, to everyone. She was a humble girl, but her heart was almost as big as her dreams and ambitions. The sparkle in her gaze was alive when she told Blake that someday they would go to Atlas, that they would do great things. Her words danced with such conviction in Blake’s ears that, for a moment, she also wanted to share that dream, forgetting everything that didn't fit in the peaceful emerald that bathed her eyes.

And Jaune, so unique in a way that it could only be him. He stumbled over and over with the same stone, but Blake never saw him give up. He always walked forward, always with his chin held high, no matter how much harm the world had done to him. Blake remembers when she told him her idea to set up a special cafeteria for the three of them, how he seemed to light up like a chandelier, bursting with excitement. And like every day, after school, they got down to work together. He reminded her of Yang in some ways. In the bad jokes he sometimes made, his stubbornness, and in the honesty that surrounded him like an impenetrable halo.

_And now... Jaune and Pyrrha..._

_They're gone?_

Blake turns the page, holding her breath with her heart hammering against her ribs, as if wanting to flee and hide. She moves her finger, shaking, reading name by name.

Until, finally, Blake finds the names she wanted more than anything in this world to never have to read.

 

**María Calavera (82)**

**Yang Xiao Long (17)**

**Ruby Rose (15)**

 

A single tear, thick and cold, falls on the fine page under her finger. For a second that seems to last a lifetime, Blake doesn’t move. She doesn’t feel the rough touch of the paper; doesn’t feel the hard wooden chair on her back; doesn’t feel Weiss' hand on her arm, nor Sun's movements behind her. Blake doesn’t hear their voices, nor their breathing. Not even hers. She can't feel her heart beating, can't see the lights in the library, or the other names that fill the open book right under her nose. Blake’s whole world, no, her whole universe and all the reality where she exists has narrowed to a single, tiny space, where only one name and one age fit. Yang Xiao Long. _Yang Xiao Long._ _Yang…_

The other two are looking at the list of names from behind Bake’s back.

“Is that her?” Sun asks, suddenly breaking Blake’s bubble, his voice several tones higher than usual. “There has to be some kind of mistake! Cause this girl…!” He nervously runs his fingers through his hair before dropping the bomb. “…She died three years ago!”

Blake gets up from the chair abruptly, startling Weiss. Her head is going to explode. Of thoughts, of memories, of pictures of Yang, of the village, of the comet, of pieces that don't fit together. It can't be true. _It can't be true, it's impossible, because…_

“But just two or three weeks ago, she told me…!”

Blake replies shouting, as if she could tear the pain out of every fiber of her body, scare away the ghosts of memories of what is no longer in this world. She shouts, wishing with all her heart to make his words disappear. _It aches to breathe_. Blake makes an effort to inhale and continue speaking, this time in a weak whimper, no louder than a shaky whisper.

“She told me… that I’d see the comet…” She says, managing with a huge effort to finally separate her eyes from Yang's name. She remembers the entry Yang left on her phone, talking about how Blake would see the comet on the night of her date with Sun, the last day they exchanged bodies. She remembers how excited she was to see it. _The comet_. Tears clump painfully behind her eyelids when, at last, Blake understands everything. “That's why I couldn't…!”

She lifts her face, looking for anything to focus her gaze on, everything but her name written in that dreadful black ink that has sucked up any drop of hope that might be left in her crushed body. Blake raises her eyes and finds her own reflection on the already dark glass of the window in front of her.

 _Who are you?_ Blake thinks all of a sudden, as if the words had found her in a sea of meaningless memories that surround her, fill her, drown her.

Somewhere in her mind, Blake hears someone's hoarse, distant voice. A voice she’s heard before a long time ago, perhaps in another life. A voice full of experience, feelings, sorrow and wonder. _Oh, you..._

 

**_"…You're dreaming, aren't you?"_ **

 

_Am I dreaming?_

Blake feels totally and utterly confused. She stares at her reflection. Her dark hair is tangled and flattened against her forehead, probably because of the sweat. Her almond golden eyes look deeply exhausted.

“I…” Blake whispers, maybe to her reflection, maybe to someone she can't seem to remember. “What am I… doing here?”


	10. Scattered memories

Laughter, clapping and incessant chatter of people in the room next door slip through the thin walls and echo in the suite Blake’s in. It seems they are having a party.

Someone says something funny and everyone laughs. The cycle keeps going on and on for a while. They may be celebrating a birthday, a business dinner or some other thing. Blake doesn’t really care, but she sharpens her hearing, trying to guess what kind of gathering it is, to empty her mind for a few moments. The whispering goes on, but she doesn’t understand a word they say. She shakes her head, strands of dark hair falling down her forehead like waves on the shore. Under her skin, a tempest is raging.

Like sand spilling in an hourglass, the hours have been slipping away. Blake has been reading non-stop old newspapers and magazines, but she’s reached the point where her head can't take in any more information, a volcano overflowing with burning, brittle lava between her temples. She takes the phone from the table and checks again the diary app, a little light shines within her hoping that maybe what Yang wrote is still there. But, for the seventh time in the last hour, there's no sign of them.

She rests her head on her arms crossed on the table, sighing. Just a few millimeters away from her eyes, the letters of the papers get blurred. After everything that's happened in the last few hours, Blake only finds a solution in the storm of tangible things and things that are lost.

“Was it just… a dream?”

Blake whispers to the ghost that haunts her, pieces of a shattered hope forgotten on the floor. _Do I want to believe it was?_ The question slips across the cracks in her bones.

“The scenery was familiar to me because I had seen it in the news three years ago…”

The room’s light blinks through the locks of hair that fall upon her eyes. A dark cloak that covers the world around her. Blake imagines herself diving into it, letting it slip between her fingers.

“And her…”

A candle lights up in the darkness that reigns beyond Blake’s eyelids. A bright color. A voice, a name that curls like the course of time. Entangling her. Dragging her. Letting her go.

_How do I explain her existence, then?_

The shape of her jaw is drawn with ash over Blake’s memories. The soft curve of her neck, her strong arms, and the outline of her shoulder blades.

“Was she… a ghost?” She whispers under the dim light. “No…”

Violet wraps her, warm and sweet like a hug. It slips under her skin, electric, insistent, roaring with desperation. The soft echo of her voice tickles in Blake’s ears like a prophecy, an old song, cold like the winter weather, distant.

“Maybe it all was…”

Yang’s face fades away, her facial features blur like sand. Sand that falls down the round edges of the world. The universe tilts one degree in her mind, and Blake holds onto the wooden desk, her head spinning. _Yes, maybe it all was…_

Silky hair made of sun waves in her mind. A girl dances on her toe tips to a song older tan time, lost in a blaze. Fire dances with her, around her, inside her. But she smiles. Soft lavender sparkling in the sky above them.

“My imagination…?”

Blake whispers, only the cicadas answer. She raises her head, startled. _Something’s wrong_. She tries to remember her. Her soft cheeks. Her cheerful nature. Her stupid puns.

Pieces of scattered memories draw her silhouette in her mind. But, as soon as they come, they fade away. Blake tries again. Waves of uncertainty blur Yang’s memory again and again, like the sea foam drags the sand and wipes out the grooves of the shore. Threads of wind haul away the corner of her smile, fraying volatilely her picture from Blake’s mind. _No_. Something breaks with a crack Blake didn’t know how to hear. _Something’s being erased from my memory._

“Her name…” The ‘tick, tock’ of the clock fills the room. Blake stares at her hands with urgency, searching for something that she can’t remember. Her head tiptoeing on the edge of falling. “What was her name…?”

With a soft ‘knock, knock’, the thin wooden door opens. A blonde head pops in.

“Weiss says she’s gonna take a bath,” he says. “With the crazy day we’ve had, I bet it’s the closest thing to heaven we can get. But I’m incredibly tired. So rest now, bath later.”

Sun tells her, already wearing his PJ’s and his usual cool smile. The cold, distant atmosphere in the room melts like snow, turning softer and warmer. In an instant, Blake feels much more relieved.

“Yeah… I’ll probably do the same,” she slightly nods. Blake hadn’t noticed the exhaustion, her muscles weigh like iron in the tide of fatigue. Taking a bath now sounds like an odyssey.

“Right?” Sun says, sitting in front of her, with a tired sigh. “I dunno how she does it, though.”

“Do what?” Blake tilts her head. An ear lazily hanging on top.

“Stay calm and collected all the time. I mean, it’s been quite a day, right?” He runs his fingers through his hair. His gaze absent, thoughtful. “She’s so much like you.”

“Like me?” Blake repeats. “How?”

The sudden honesty bumps into her. She stares at him, and she’d say he looks older, more tired. She bites the inside of her bottom lip. It hasn’t been a long day just for Blake, full of contradictory emotions, but in this sea of shredded delusions she’s dragged them with her.

“Keeping things to herself. Trying not to get others involved in her stuff,” he looks away, words sounding shallow in the thick air. “You know what I mean.”

Blake remembers being, hours ago, in front of the most devastating scenery she had ever seen. The bitter taste of helplessness covering her lips, slipping down her throat, pumping painfully through her veins, carrying tiny crystals of broken hopes and sticking here and there. There was nothing left. Nothing. Just the lonely cry of a distant black bird, mourning everything it had lost.

And, in the eye of the tornado of confusion and tears dense as the sea, Weiss and Sun held her knowing next to nothing about what was going on. To them, Blake had come to see a friend she had met on the internet. But everything crooked when Blake remembered that Patch was that village she’d been longing to find, the scenery of a long-lost tragedy.

Blake fiddles around, half-way lost in her thoughts. She can’t give them a proper explanation, it’d be too complicated, but the least she feels they deserve is an apology.

“About that…” Blake starts, a sigh escaping from her lips with a rehearsed heaviness. “I wanted to say I’m sorry. For all the weird things I’ve said today.”

“Nah, no worries. I get that,” He gestures carelessly, getting back his usual cheerful smile. Warmth comes back to Blake’s fingertips, she relaxes. “It’s been a… stressful day, right? Not at all what you expected.”

“You could say that,” she shrugs softly, waiting to feel the familiar sting of nostalgia that haunts her, a lingering shadow in her own mind. Surprisingly, it never comes. “I don’t know what I expected, but… it definitely wasn’t that.”

“Though I gotta say I’m kinda… glad this whole thing happened. Like, glad you finally opened up to us, I think,” his blue gaze softens, his heart pouring out of his eyes like raindrops. “Not glad about the girl misunderstanding. That sucks. But you get what I mean.”

“That’s… really nice of you to say, Sun.”

Blake’s gaze matches his, golden turning tempered, like warmed up by the sun. Blake wouldn’t say it out loud, but part of her was hoping, waiting even, for them to say they’re tired of her because of all the drama she’s dragged them into today. Blake would’ve accepted their anger, their complains and even their goodbyes, if they decided to leave. But, none of her brain cells had come up with the thought that they would… care this much. That they would be glad to be there in a situation like this, be there to comfort her. With her eyes wide open and her heart in her hands, Blake lets herself drown in her friend’s honesty, her mind not overthinking anything for a second. Trusting. She had been so drained and broken a few hours ago that she’d let her cries consume her body, while the desolate scenery crawled under her skin, freezing her more and more. She hadn’t thought that, in that moment, Blake had shown herself much more vulnerable than in all the years she’s been with them. Mysterious, quiet, stealthy. Every expression and movement of her body was always premeditated to show exactly what she wanted everyone to see, and nothing more. Blake guesses this whole thing is bigger than she is, it always has been. It was a mystery of two, but it turned nearly impossible when her other half slipped through her fingers when she was about to reach her.

And, when that happened, Sun and Weiss were there for Blake.

“Suffering alone isn’t worth it, you know? Not when you have friends you can lean on,” the smile that he draws is shy and soft, a warm breath of spring over the winter of Blake’s skin. “I guess I’m glad you finally did, somehow.”

“I…”

Blake opens her mouth. A cozy feeling of gratitude overflows her heart, wriggling out of her ribcage, gliding through her veins. Sun smiles showing all his teeth, and a small smile traces its way on Blake’s face.

When, a few hours ago, she discovered the truth about what happened three years ago, Blake felt the most utterly and terrifying loneliness bath every centimeter on her body. Because that person that she’d thought would fill the corners of her world with her blazing smile and her soul brighter than the sun had faded away from the earth’s surface, dust particles blown away by the summer breeze. The promise of a change, which swept away the light that had settled in her chest.

Though her feelings were valid, Blake knows that solitude was just a disposable mask that was hiding what her mind didn’t want to see. Despite everything, her friends were there when she needed them most, holding her broken pieces that were scattered all over the place, not asking and not trying to glue them back together. Acceptance.

“Especially if they’re cool, awesome, handsome friends like me,” a greedy smile climbs up his face. “Right?”

“Shut up,” Blake rolls her eyes and laughs, the oppressive mist in her lungs fades away quietly. “But I guess you’re right. I’m… not that mad that you came along, after all. Though you haven’t been exactly helpful, but it’s been nice to have you two around. Thanks.”

Blake says, she feels this is the most authentic thing she’s said in the whole day. Even though the world is breaking apart and falling over her, now she know she’s not alone. She has people around her who’d watch her back while Blake faces her demons, ghosts of things that couldn’t be and memories that haunt her. Somehow, she knows she’ll be okay. For a tiny moment, hope faintly slips back through her cracks. And Blake smiles.

“Aww, look at you! Getting all softy!” Sun laughs like a little kid. Blake feels blood rushing to her cheeks.

“I’m not!” She shakes her head strongly, but she loses all credibility when Sun’s laughter spreads to her and she starts laughing too. “It was you who started!”

“I’m taking a picture,” Sun says, getting up to rummage through his bag, a funny look on his face, while Blake chases him across the room to stop him. “Blake being honest and soft! That’s, like, a once-in-a-lifetime event!”

“Don’t!” Blake says. “Shut up!”

She runs after him with a goofy smile. Just now, for a tiny little bit of time, the world doesn’t look quite as bad. Blake still has the sun and the moon looking after her from above.

 

* * *

 

“I’m sorry I could only get us one room,” Blake’s voice sounds weak in the silence of the room.

“Sun said the exact same thing to me,” Weiss answers, shrugging. “It’s okay, I don’t mind sharing.”

They’re sitting facing each other in front of a small table by the window. Weiss plays with the free locks of hair that have slipped out of the high bun that she made herself, scrolling through her phone.

“The hotel staff told me that today a large group happened to arrive, taking most of the rooms, and they were almost complete,” Blake keeps on talking, passing loosely the pages of a book that she borrowed from the library. About Patch, of course. The wrecked vision of the village still lingers between her temples. “The manager said it was some business celebration or something like that.”

“That explains all the noise,” Weiss says, looking for a second at the wall that connects them to the room next door. She rolls her eyes, sighing in disapproval.

“Yeah… I hope they don’t bother us much,” Blake scratches the back of her neck, uneasy. “I’m sorry, there wasn’t any room far from the noise, I asked.”

“Blake, it’s fine, really,” she says. “You don’t need to worry about everything.”

Blake nods, willing to set the topic aside and focus again on reading, but Weiss keeps on talking. She tells her that, while she was in the resting room after she got out of the bath, she saw a group of girls approach Sun, who was about to come in, and they offered him some pears. Unable to keep herself from laughing a bit, Weiss tells Blake how Sun tried to politely accept them and flee from there, while the girls kept getting closer and closer to him. In the end, Weiss had to step in and intervene. _Those girls probably thought I was her girlfriend or something like that_ , Weiss says, _but who cares, they left him alone. Plus, we got fruit now_. Blake pictures the scene in her head, and she laughs at the thought. While she talks, the scent of her shampoo comes up to her. Light and wild, reminding her of a faraway land.

“Oh… So Patch was a region that used to produce braided cords. They’re beautiful,” Weiss says, flipping through the book that Blake had left forgotten on the table between them. It’s full of pictures of Patch’s typical materials and products, among which are the cords. With every shade and tone of color, they blend making figures and sceneries. A skyscraper, a psychedelic design, some flowers, fish scales, the top of the mountains, etc. All of them inspired by nature. A breath of yearning breaks through Blake’s chest. “My mother liked those very much. I remember one time she asked to import cords of all colors to gift them as complements at one of my recitals. It was one of the last ones she came to.”

The soft smile still tingles on her face, but her eyes turn darker as she talks about her mother. Blake reaches with her arm across the table and finds her hand. She holds it softly but steadily, letting her know that she’s here, that she cares, and most importantly, that Weiss’ here and not stuck in that past. She raises her eyes and they’re softer, fresh blue like summer rain.

Weiss looks down at their hands and stays thoughtful for a second.

“Oh… by the way,” she observes Blake’s right wrist, a drop of homesickness in her voice. “This thing you’re wearing, is it a braided cord, too?”

“What? Oh, this is…”

Blake lets go of her and raises her hand, leaving it suspended in the air between them. She stares at her wrist, too. It’s her lucky wristband, the one she always carries with her. If she forgets to put in on before leaving the house, even if she’s just going out for five minutes, she feels naked, vulnerable. The fabric is a thicker and more resistant material than the usual sewing thread – the cord, of vivid orange color. Like the sky at sunset, warm and comforting. Like the sun at dawn, full of new promises, soft and light.

_Huh…?_

A memory tries to make its way into the whirlpool of Blake’s mind, vulnerable and faint like a candle in the wind, about to fade away. She frowns, trying to protect it and bring it close to the surface, but it gets more and more vague and ethereal. She focuses on the wristband, somewhat frayed here and there by the passing of the years and the use. An impulse, a necessity, an ardent curiosity. Blake knows it’s important. It always has been something important, something essential, a sentimental burden that is both heavy and necessary. A reminder, a promise. _This bracelet…_

“I’d swear somebody gave it to me…” Blake’s voice sounds weak in the silence of the room, in the endless distance that’s between Weiss and her, between the rest of the world and her. This cord is something relevant, Blake can feel the weigh that it had a billion years ago, an oath of forgotten words spiraling through her skin. Reclaiming. Electric. Burning. “It was a long time ago… And sometimes I wear it as a good luck charm. I don’t know, it’s stupid, but… It makes me feel sheltered, somehow.”

Again, Blake feels a bitter and sharp pain in her head. An invisible drill that digs between her temples. Relentless, fierce, desperate.

“But, who gave it to me…?” Blake whispers, forgetting all about Weiss, about the hotel they’re in, the trip they’re doing, the village, of her.

_Come on, who gave it to me? Was it mom? Dad? No, I’d remember. This isn’t a birthday gift, it’s something more special. It was a long time ago, but, who…? Who would give something like this to me? What did this mean? Why do I feel… this burden in my chest? This yearning? Who…?_

Blake can’t make herself remember. She feels tears starting to build up behind her eyelids.

Something inside tells her that, if she keeps stretching this string, she’ll find some answers.

“Hey, Blake…” She raises her face slowly towards Weiss’ soft voice. She had completely forgotten about her. Suddenly, she’s back in the real world, and she almost feels even more confused. The half-smile that her friend’s wearing is filled with poorly hidden worry. “Why don’t you go and take a bath?”

“Yeah…” Blake stutters. “I’m going to…”

Still, she quickly breaks eye contact with Weiss, again. Blake glues her gaze to the braided cord on her wrist. Orange, like the crackling of the fire. _A fire… that once danced in the night… with traditional music flooding around…_ More confusing memories. She shakes her head with the feeling that, if she takes her eyes off it even if for just a second, she’ll never find an answer. Blake focuses on searching inside her memories, a raging sea that’s spilling pieces of her over the edge of the world. Unkempt, untamed, rebellious. Blake’s head is full. Of memories that she can’t recall, of faces that are blurry, of voices that are long lost. Full of everything, but not a single sound.

When she manages to pay attention, she realizes the celebration next door is over. They must have gone to sleep. _It’s gotta be late_. The lonely sound of the autumn insects echoes in the room. Weiss stares at her. Expecting, patient.

“Once… somebody who used to make those braids told me…” A memory sneaks into Blake’s mind, crystal clear. Their words stick to the shards of her heart. An important life lesson, a message that goes beyond dream and reality. _Whose voice is that?_ A gentle, hoarse, soothing, familiar voice. A storyteller. “They told me the braids represent the very flow of time. The cords turn, intertwine together, split apart and reconnect again. That is time. That is…” The autumn covered mountains. The sounds of the valley. The smell of the river. The taste of the tea. The burden of someone on her back. A tree in the middle of the silence. The other half of someone. “That’s… a bond.”

All of a sudden, the landscape stretches before her. Images fill Blake’s mind gushingly, bursting through the walls in her head bouncing fiercely. _You lived this_ , they seem to say, to scream. _You were here. You walked these paths. You heard those words. It happened. It was real. You are so close_.

Blake’s heart beats out of control, nearly cracking her ribs. It beats in her chest, in her temples, in her veins, her head, everywhere. Blake remembers. _I remember_. The sacred repository at the top of the mountain. And that jar they gave as an offering. The other half of...

“Is it possible that… that place…?”

Blake pushes away everything on the table with her arm. Books, magazines, even her phone, it all falls to the ground with a strong thud. Weiss’ startled, but she doesn’t say anything, observing Blake’s moves with an unreadable expression on her face. Blake searches in a drawer for a map and, when she finds it, she lays it on the table with urgency. It’s a map of Patch, of the village three years ago, covered in dust because it’s been abandoned in some shop all this time, up until someone found it and brought it to the library, from where Blake took it. In this map, the lake is still with its original shape, and Blake finds this comforting. Her head is spinning, thought after thought, processing. The place they went to give that offering on the top of that mountain must’ve been fairly far from the zone where the meteor crashed. If Blake’s right, it should be intact.

_Just Maybe, if I go there… If I find that place again and the jar is still there…_

Blake picks a pencil and starts scanning through the map to find any shape that matches that particular mountain, that kilometric depression at the top where there was nothing but an overwhelming silence. If she remembers it right, the area was much further north from the sanctuary, and it had a cauldron shape. She begins to desperately search for a spot that meets these conditions, jumping from one point to another on the map, with pinpoint accuracy and relentless tenacity.

Blake believes that Weiss is speaking to her, but her voice sounds awfully distant. Blake finds it impossible, unbearable, to look away from the map right now.

That is until she finds it.

 

* * *

 

“…ke… Blake…”

Through the thick fog that enfolds everything, Blake can hear a muffled sound. The voice of a girl.

“Blake… Blake.”

The distant sounds become clearer in her ears. For a moment, it seems like that girl is on the verge of tears. Kind, as if she didn't want to alarm her. But intense, as if claiming something from Blake. A voice that blinks like a distant star, broken with sadness, full of something Blake can't read.

“You don’t… remember me?”

The voice asks her with concern. For a moment, Blake feels a prick of nostalgia. And it hurts. It hurts right in her chest, under her skin, across her nerves, inside her head. Like every fiber of Blake’s being wanted to get close to that voice. To comfort that voice. To recognize it.

Soft, familiar curves fade away from her. She’s aching.

Blake drowns in a sea of lilac.

 

* * *

 

She awakes all of a sudden.

_Oh, right… We’re at the hotel…_

It seems like she’s fallen asleep on the wooden table beside the window. The map of Patch’s village still lies on top of it, creased. Blake slowly rises, her back hurting. Actually, everything hurts. She feels as if she’s twenty years older somehow. As Blake stretches, her bones pop satisfactorily and her ears at the top of her head start to not feel that numb. She hears the gentle, soft breathing of a sleeping Weiss and Sun right on the other side of the thin door. Blake breathes in deeply, filling her lungs with the cold night air. Without Sun’s stupid jokes and Weiss’ constant complaints, the room is strangely quiet. No sounds of bugs nor cars passing by, like it happens back at home.

Blake gets up from the chair, careful to not make any noise. The sound her clothes do when she moves seem so loud it almost makes her heart jump out. On the outside, some faint rays of light start to appear all around. _Sunrise_ , Blake thinks to herself, and the thought of being surrounded by light comforts her.

Like a magnet, her eyes go down, and Blake finds herself fixing her gaze on the braided cord around her wrist. The echo of the voice of that girl back in her dream, that downhearted voice that Blake can’t quite place, still rumbles weakly in her eardrum. Like an old song without lyrics.

 _Who are you…?_ Blake asks the stranger in her mind, hoping to get a silent answer. With all the strange things that have been happening last few months, she wouldn’t be surprised if she actually got one.

But, as expected, the answer never comes.

 _It’s okay_. Blake shakes her head weakly and heads for her backpack, her mood light for the first time in what feels like a lifetime. _I have a plan anyway_.

 

**Weiss, Sun:**

**There’s a place I need to go.**

**Go back to Atlas, both of you, please. I won’t take long to come back, too. I promise.**

**I’m sorry I’m being this selfish, but this is something I need to do on my own. Still, I love you guys, and I’m thankful for everything you’ve done for me. I won’t admit this out loud, but I needed support at first and you gave it to me with no hesitation. You helped me on my lowest, but now I’m back on my feet. It’s time I make things right.**

**Thank you. I mean it.**

**Blake.**

She finishes writing the note and she leaves it on the table. After thinking about it for a few seconds, Blake takes out a few bucks and places them next to the note, under the teacup. She may not be able to give them back the time they’ve spent being here with her, nor make disappear the anger that Weiss is going to feel when she reads this. But what she can do is try to make them get home safe. It’s the least Blake should do, after everything they’ve gone through for her.

_As for you, girl I don’t know yet – this time I’m coming to find you._

 

* * *

 

He’s reserved and somewhat mysterious, but deep down he has a heart of gold. It’s the only conclusion Blake can get while she watches the calm hands holding the steering wheel.

As soon as she left the note and walked out of the hotel, Blake shuffled through her options. After doing quick math and calculating how many trains she’d need to take to get to that mountain, in her mind a thought rose brighter than any. She decided to call the cook of that restaurant they went to yesterday, Ren. After all, he took them to Patch’s high school and, after that, to the nearest local library. So, when Blake called, she could only pray to have that good luck again. Some God must have heard her, or maybe it was the homesickness for the village he once lived in with Nora, because he answered Blake’s call at six in the morning and offered to give her a ride again.

They’ve been driving for a while now, and Blake has learnt that Ren’s quite a relaxed person, and that the silences between them aren’t uncomfortable, but reflective. To be honest, Blake has never been very talkative herself. She’d rather find herself in a comfortable silence than having a meaningless conversation. That’s why she’s looking through the window, content, observing how the sun’s getting higher and brighter each time, up in the sky, announcing the beginning of a brand new day.

From the co-driver's seat, Blake can see, down below, the shore of New Lake Patch. Half submerged in the lake, there are still some partly destroyed houses and broken pieces of asphalt. And further away, deep in the lake, telephone poles and steel beams can be seen protruding from the surface. A chill runs quickly all over Blake’s back. She knows that this is a scenery that’s completely out of the ordinary, but for some reason, she has the feeling as if this is how it always had been. Probably because she’s spent the last two days looking at this devastation over and over again, be it in books, pictures or magazines. Still, now that Blake is seeing it so close, knowing everything that happened and without blind hopes covering her eyes, she doesn’t know how she feels. Should Blake feel angry that she didn’t make it in time? Frightened by the destruction that happened in just one night? Should she mourn and feel powerless for everything she feels she’s lost? Blake doesn’t know. She’s messed up. Her thoughts are all tangled. It’s possible that the annihilation of a perfectly functional village is a phenomenon that ordinary people cannot simply assimilate. So she gives up trying to find a meaning for the scene she sees around and, instead, Blake looks at the sky. The ash-colored clouds stretch over them, as if some god in heaven had placed a titanic roof over the earth.

They continue heading north along the line of the lake until they finally reach a point from which they can’t keep on driving. Ren sets the hand brake.

“Seems like it’ll rain soon,” he says, looking at the clouds through the windshield. Beyond, the rocky forms grow uphill, full of vegetation. “This mountain isn’t too difficult to climb, but be careful anyway. If anything happens, you can call Nora or me.”

“Thank you,” Blake says, but it doesn’t sound like enough.

“Here, take this,” he adds, and hands Blake a huge lunchbox carefully. It’s wrapped in soft orange cloth with pictures of pancakes. “Eat it when you’re up there.”

Blake takes the heavy lunchbox with both hands not thinking it twice, a shy smile climbing up her face. The warmth of the food flows through the cloth and reaches her fingers. It's recently made, Nora must have gotten up just to make it for Blake.

“I… Don’t know what to say,” she stutters. Rays of light leak out the tree leaves and shine through the car glass. “Thank you so much.”

Having just met Blake, this couple has helped her so much since yesterday, more than they’ll ever get to know. For starters, their food was delicious, made with love and care. And, after hearing that Blake intended to visit the village, they offered to take them here and there straight away. Nora, with her contagious laugh, moving from one place to another like a cheerful lightning; and Ren, with his aura of peace and his serene eyes full of knowledge and acceptance. Blake is really lucky that she found them.

Ren, meanwhile, smiles a little. Nostalgia overflows through his eyes like a waterfall, filling Blake inside.

“Nora and I don’t know your story,” he says, his voice soft as a whisper through the leaves. “But that drawing of Patch was really beautiful. We both hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Blake feels a strong tightness in her chest. In the distance, she hears the faint sound of thunder.

 

* * *

 

As she walks along, Blake realizes small details of the world around her. Firstly, the access road to the sacred place is nefarious. There are rocks everywhere, it's not smooth, it's dangerous to walk on the edge, and it's slippery. It's so unstable that Blake doubts it's even for pedestrians. It looks more like an animal trail.

She walks in what looks like a forest on the side of the mountain. Pines, birches, poplars and some walnut trees swarm around her, like a labyrinth where everything looks the same. Their tops cover the sky like a living roof. The grass-covered ground between the rocks cushions her steps and the sound of her shoes. Being in between so much vegetation makes Blake feel like an intruder. And, with so many tall and imposing trees, she feels small. Around her, the day darkens and the thunder approaches.

From time to time, Blake stops and checks the map where she wrote the instructions to get to her destination. She also looks at the GPS on her phone, just in case. _There's nothing to worry about_ , Blake tells herself, _I'm getting closer_. Little by little, she feels like she’s remembering. Like she knows some of the places that wrap around her. Some fragments of the road, some trees in particular, some river she passes by. But, in reality, this is just a mountain she came once while she was dreaming. Blake doesn’t want to be overconfident about this, either. It’s not as if she’d like getting lost in the woods in the middle of literally nowhere. So, right now, her only option is to follow the map’s indications and to pray this is enough.

When she stepped out of the car, Blake said goodbye to Ren and stayed next to the roadway while he drove away, until his car’s silhouette disappeared from her field of vision. And, while it did, Weiss and Sun’s faces came to her mind. Deep down, her friends, just like the boy and the girl from the restaurant, followed Blake here because they were worried about her. She imagines for a second how must have been being them these last few days. How they must have looked at her, completely unaware of what was going through her mind at the time. Blake is sure the expression on her face was terrible. Cause that’s how she felt, but they had no way of knowing. Maybe they saw everything through her eyes. As if she’d been at the break of bursting into tears all the time. A geyser about to explode, holding back so as not to hurt anyone. If it was Blake in that situation, she would’ve done the same. Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t have left her alone seeing her so weak and broken, but at the same time, so determined to find what she’s come looking for.

That’s why, for them and for herself, Blake has to change now. That’s why she left the hotel this morning. She can’t afford to keep this sad face anymore. Blake can’t keep on depending on people that surround her, that love her.

Even if it was unintentional, she got into this all by herself. Though, Blake wasn’t exactly alone. _She_ was with her. And, now that she isn’t, Blake is the only person in the world that knows. The only one that can turn things around to what they were. What they should’ve been. Or, at least, she has the duty to try. For her, to finally understand what is this hollowness in her chest that that beats and bleeds for the absence of something. For Yang, to see her one last time. To remember her. _To…_

_Tap._

Suddenly, Blake feels a thick, cold drop of water fall on her face.

_Tap, tap, tap._

Drops of water start to fall everywhere, colliding with the leaves around.

 _“Seems like it’ll rain soon,”_ Ren had said. Blake should’ve walked faster.

As she starts to glimpse the shape of the New Lake Patch through the trees, Blake puts on the hood and starts running.

 

* * *

 

It’s raining.

It’s raining so hard that it feels like the sky has put a thick cold layer over the mountain. Blake slides through the drops as fast as she can, running with all her might. The icy water mixes with the hot sweat of her skin, and together they fall down her neck, her arms, her back, her legs. The water falls around her with such force that it seems like it wants to carve grooves in the earth under her feet. Blake’s skin senses the instant lowering of temperature, as if the rain had absorbed all the heat of the mountain, of the plants, of her body. She crosses the drops of water as she speeds down the roads, looking for a place to take shelter. Her ears, her hair and her clothes are completely soaked. The rain slides down her face like cold tears, dragging with it the good mood Blake had left, shattering it in its rainfall to the ground. Inside, her bones shudder.

Blake finds a little cave and she doesn’t waste a second thought as she gets inside of it. She thinks lighting a fire to warm her would be the smart thing to do, but she can't find anything to do it with. Also, all the things she carries in her backpack are probably as soaked as Blake is. So she just shivers as she waits for the storm to pass. And she eats.

She opens Nora's lunchbox and a delicious food smell fills her nostrils, bringing back some of the heat Blake had lost. In the box, there are three rice balls as big as fists, an endless number of small side dishes, fairly thick tenderloin steaks, and sprouts of soybeans fried with sesame oil. Of course, the unusual lunchbox with pancake patterns shouts to the four winds that it'd come from a kitchen of a cozy restaurant. The more Blake eats, the more she regains body heat until she stops shaking. As she chews and swallows, Blake feels the cooked grains of rice going down her throat to her stomach. When she finishes, she lets out a content sigh.

 _A bond_ , Blake can’t help but think. Again, that voice of her memories dances in her mind.

_Whether it's water, rice, tea, food, alcohol... When a person consumes something, a "bond" is formed. What enters the body is linked to the soul, to the spirit._

That day Blake promised herself that she wouldn’t forget these words, even long after she woke up. She remembers the sunset lights shining on her face, while the wise words of someone Blake doesn’t remember made deep marks in her heart, crawling between its cracks, golden locks playing in the autumn breeze. Tentatively, Blake finds her voice in the darkness.

“…They come together and take shape. They turn, intertwine, and sometimes they unravel. They break and then reconnect again,” word by word, Blake feels she’s found a thread, a connection with that dream that lays awake somewhere within her. “That’s a bond. That is time.”

She stares at the braided cord on her wrist.

Orange. Like the sky, like the sun, like her soul.

It hasn't been interrupted yet. They can connect again.

 

* * *

 

Blake walks for hours. So many that she loses track of time. She only sees rocks and trees around her. Nature is swallowing her ability to see beyond and claiming her senses, growing under her skin. But she keeps moving forward. And somehow, without her noticing, at some point the foliage of the trees changes into a landscape of moss-covered rocks. At last, they stop covering all her field of vision and Blake finds the sky again, hooded and rainy. _Tap, tap, tap_. The drops relentlessly fall around her, on her, soaking her up. Grey, blue, tired. Blake continues walking.

Farther down, among the thick clouds, Blake can see the silhouette of the two lakes. So small it could be just her imagination. She’s so high up the mountain. The hoodie of her jacket is soaked, and it’s fairly useless in avoiding the rain from getting on her ears and over her hair, which are all also soaked. Drops of water, slippery like little cold rivers, slide down her back. But Blake doesn’t care anymore, not at this point. With a tired but content sigh, she looks around. The air comes out in vapor bubbles as it flows from her lips, thick and warm against the icy rain. Under her feet, the road ends. Blake has reached the top.

“There it is…!”

She takes off the heavy plastic hood. Her ears stretch uncomfortably above her head. Drops fall from the sky and collide freely with her, cold and wet against the warmth of her skin. Blake opens her eyes wide.

Before her eyes stretches, at last, the depression in the shape of a cauldron that she once visited in her dreams. The rocks on the slope create a perfect circle that sinks inward, where miles of fertile land cover the top of the mountain with vegetation and streams of water. In the middle, the solitary figure of a huge tree stands solemnly, a gentle giant in the solitude of the caldera. And, around her, the most absolute silence. Only the raindrops can be heard, defying nothingness. A tired smile spreads across Blake’s face.

“It really does exist…! It wasn’t just a dream!”

Her voice sounds fragile on the top of the world. Waves of relief and hope overflow Blake inside. The rain, which has subsided into a light drizzle, falls on her cheeks like tears. _I made it. I really did make it. I’m so close now…!_ For a moment, Blake asks herself if she’s really crying. She rubs them abruptly with the sleeve and starts to descend the mountain slope, trying not to slip.

Crossing the fog, Blake finally reaches it, panting. The thin stream of water of her dreams has evolved into a pretty big pond that expands before her. She’s not sure if it grew because of the rain or because it’s been so long since she came here. Whatever it was, the pond gets between the colossal tree, around ten meters away from here, and Blake.

_Beyond this point, I enter the Other World._

That thought lingers in her mind for a second. Blake would swear someone said those words to her a really long time ago. For some reason, she has a feeling that she was scared once. Like she was afraid she may not come back, that she’d be lost forever, that she’d be locked up in the Other World. But now it’s Blake who’s willingly walking straight up there, hoping it will embrace her, hold her, give her the chance to turn things around and make things right. The chance to see her again.

Blake puts one foot in the water and hears a loud splashing, as if she’d just jumped into a bathtub. A dirty, frozen bathtub. The silence around her is thick and overwhelming, except for the small sound of the raindrops hitting the pond. The water, dense, reaches her above the knees, as if it were the children's pool in a sports center. Blake moves on little by little, making the same splashing noise at every step she takes. She has the feeling as if she was staining something immaculate and pure with her muddy shoes. Up until Bake came, this place was completely in an almost religious silence. At the same time, she feels how all the warmth of her body is again being swallowed up by the cold of the water, but she doesn’t let this stop her. Not this, not anything. _I’m so close…_ In no time, the water covers her to chest height. The hair on her skin bristles from the cold.

But, somehow, Blake manages to cross the pond.

 

* * *

 

The great tree is standing tall on top of a single rock, surrounding it with its huge white roots.

Blake is not really sure if the sacred repository is the tree, the rock, or if it actually is a combination of both which make that symbol of veneration. In the nook between some roots and the rock, there are narrow stairs that go down to a fairly large room of about six square meters wide, but that’s as dark as night.

The silence here is even more deafening than outside.

With trembling and practically frozen hands, Blake unzips her jacket and gets the phone out. She checks it isn’t wet, which is nearly miraculous, and turns it on. Each and every one of the little movements Blake does makes a tremendous noise in this mute darkness. Finally, the switch-on tone of the phone is heard, completely out of place, and then she activates the flashlight function.

Neither color nor warmth exist in this place.

The small sanctuary, just outlined in front of Blake thanks to the phone illumination, is covered by totally grayish tones. Maybe because of the passing of the years, because they are carved out of stone, or because no one has set foot here in three years, but the coldness of this place goes beyond temperature. Blake feels it’s cold bristle the hair on her neck, climb under her skin and melt, running through her body and her veins, settling deep inside where she can't reach it. There’s a small stone altar in front of her. And there, under some white cords with austere decorations, are lined up two little jars about ten centimeters high.

“That’s the offering we brought…”

Blake’s voice, not louder than a whisper, rumbles like thunder in the small room. She slowly gets closer, her steps echoing within the walls. She touches the surface of the container carefully, softly, as if it were to break and shatter at the touch of her hand. A warm, tingling sensation spreads across her fingertips. Just like that, the cold is gone.

“This is the one her sister made… Ruby…”

When Blake lits the container with the phone's light, an image came to her head as if by magic. A cheerful and lively girl, a sweet smile and silver eyes. Her sister. Ruby. Her name tastes familiar on Blake’s lips. The glow bathes her jar, and she remembers when she put it there three years ago. The solemnity in her gaze, as if she were doing something immensely important. Like wanting to make someone proud.

Blake lights up the jar on the left, checking its shape.

And another memory comes back, colliding with her with the weight of everything Blake shouldn’t have forgotten. Blond locks glowing under the sun. The soft touch of toned skin. Carefree laughter brushing her ears. Lilac that holds the world like a comforting blanket. Blake remembers the outline of her figure in the mirror. The curve of her neck, the shape of her collarbone, the line of her shoulder blades. The air caressing her skin. Her world through Blake’s eyes.

_Yang!_

_Her name is Yang!_

_How could I forget?_

_Yang. Yang. Yang!_

The warmth of her memory slides inside Blake, thick and sweet like honey, filling every corner and every crack of her body.

And, before Blake, her jar rests on the stone, frozen.

“This is the one I brought,” she says. “This is Yang’s.”

Blake reaches out and grabs it. She feels a weak resistance when trying to pick it up, and a sound of something dry and scratchy. Apparently, the moss was starting to cover them up.

She sits on the cold wet stone floor in front of it and watches it closely. The white ceramic surface, once glistening and shining under the sun, is completely covered with green, dusty moss. Blake can tell it's been a while. A knot builds up in her throat when she starts talking, images blowing up in the memories behind her eyelids.

“It happened just before that comet collided here…”

Blake remembers walking here, placing the offering, the feeling of doing something so important but in another person’s place. She also remembers the desolation of the village, the loneliness, the news of three years ago, and the catastrophe caused by the meteorite.

“This means… that the Yang I knew was the one from three years ago?”

With the hand she’s holding the phone with, her only source of light down here, Blake extends a finger and brushes the moss o the surface of the jar. The green rolls and falls at her feet, leaving some of the dirty, cracked white uncovered. Blake’s heart beats unsteadily. She feels the world's edges getting blurry.

“Our timelines weren’t synchronized.”

That’s the only logical reason. When she started switching bodies with Yang, Blake thought it was obvious that they’d be existing at the same time. Never did she double-check a calendar, or got especially curious about what day it was. Blake wonders if she had known before, would things be any different? If she had realized this sooner, maybe she wouldn’t be sitting here, on this cold floor inside a sanctuary in the middle of the absolute nothing, with her heart trembling between her hands. Perhaps she would be with Yang at some cafeteria in some part of Remnant, listening to her shitty puns and her ramblings about nothing and everything. With those big lilac eyes staring just at her and at nothing else in the world.

Or maybe not. Maybe this was inevitable. One of those cruel fate things that are going to happen one way or another in the end. But Blake is here, against all odds, defying the universe and demanding a second chance.

She unties the braided cord that wraps around the cap. Blake remembers it being red when she tied this knot with her own hands, once in a dream. Now, the color is all faded and shredded between her fingers. She undoes it. Underneath it, there’s also a tiny cork.

“We were three years apart. Then, the exchange of bodies stopped because three years ago, the meteor fell, and…” Blake’s voice breaks in the silence. The conclusion is as cruel and hard as the comet, inevitable “…she died.”

Blake’s chest hurts. Something is squeezing it, threatening to break her ribs, while she tries her best to find some air in this suffocating hole she’s in. Blake imagines the illusion all over Yang’s violet eyes when she saw the comet for the first time. Its brilliant sparks and the glittering colors of its tail. The blue, white, purple and yellow tones that drew a trail through the sky. _I’m so lucky I get to see it this close_ , she must’ve thought. _I wish Blake could be here with me_. Blake can almost hear this thought in her head, Yang’s happy voice echoing between her temples like torture; remembering those last words she wrote for Blake on her phone, and that she can’t go back and read because they’re lost forever. Her body feels heavier, more tired. Her absence weighs, but… not as much as the hope to see her again. That this can actually work. That, despite everything, the universe can turn back time once again.

With a satisfying ‘pop’, Blake uncorks the small jar. Immediately, there's a slight smell of alcohol in her nostrils, tickling her. Her ears, still wet, turn with curiosity. Blake tries pouring a little on the cap.

“The other half of Yang…”

She brings the phone light a little closer. The elixir of the gods has turned translucent, it's not like the last time she saw it. Here and there float tiny particles, bubbles in the thick liquid. Reflected by the light, they make brilliant flashes inside that sway in the cap.

“A bond. They come together and take shape. They turn, intertwine, and sometimes they unravel. They break, and then, reconnect again,” Blake repeats one last time the words that once in a dream sounded so important. Now, in front of the little stone altar, and with an only wish engraved in her mind, those words sound different. Solemn, like a prayer, a promise, a memory. Bake raises the cap full of elixir closer to her mouth. “If it’s really possible to turn back in time… let me go back one last time…”

 _Let me see her again!_ Blake pleas. She chugs it all down. The sound that her throat makes when she swallows surprises even her for how strong it is. A warm feeling takes hold of Blake and starts to spread all over her body, as if her stomach had burst into flames.

“…”

But nothing happens.

The drops of water leaking from the ceiling continue to fall to the floor, making a small rhythm that makes a deaf echo in the silent room.

 _Tin, tin, tin_.

Rhythmically. Again and again.

 _Tin, tin, tin_.

Blake tries to stay still for a while. Quiet as a statue. Waiting. Holding her breath for as long as she can. The elixir burning in her lungs when she finally breathes.

As she’s not used to alcohol, because back in Atlas they only drink it on special occasions like New Year's or Weiss or Ilia's birthday, Blake notices that her body temperature rises a little and her head spins. She feels lighter, as if she was floating. And her vision gets a little blurred in the corners. But that's all. Blake is still in exactly the same place. No signs of Yang.

When disappointment comes, it doesn't violently hit her like a wave or crash into her forcefully. It slowly climbs up Blake’s body, sluggish, inch by inch, as if knowing this was going to happen. That it was going to be useless from the beginning. That, after all, there is nothing she can do to see her again. The dejection covers Blake like a duvet, closing in every hopeful pore of her skin that was exposed. Until a suffocating sensation of _nothingness_ is all she has left.

Blake sighs heavily, her breath smelling strange. _It hasn't worked after all_.

She starts to stand up, ready to go back to where she came from, back home and back to her everyday life. Returning to Atlas with a hollow in her chest, a deep hole like the ocean, just as dark and unexplored. Knowing that nothing would ever be the same. Because she couldn't fix what mattered most. She couldn't save her; couldn't see her again; couldn't hug her. _I couldn't..._ Tears grow behind her eyelids, but this time Blake doesn’t bother trying to fight them.

_Huh?_

Suddenly, she slips.

The world turns upside down. Blake tries to hold on to something, but there's nothing around her. Everything moves in slow motion. The universe tilts one, two degrees, and she loses her balance. _I'm falling_ , it’s all Bake manages to think.

_How strange…_

She’s sure she fell on her back, but the seconds are passing and Blake’s back hasn't touched the cold, wet stone floor. Her field of vision spins and tilts slowly until Blake’s eyes stare at the ceiling of the room. Her phone is still in her left hand, held tightly, and now its light illuminates the vault of the cave.

“The comet…!” Blake says, surprised.

There's a huge comet painted on the ceiling.

The drawing is carved and painted on the stone above Blake’s head. It looks very old, as if it had been waiting for hundreds and thousands of years for someone to light it up. The comet that's shown has a very long tail in the sky. Around it, hundreds of small drawn stars stand out with shimmering yellow colors. Red and blue pigments shine when the light reaches them, flashing in the darkness of the room with green, orange and blue sparkles, bathing the whole cave with their colors. And then, little by little, the drawing starts to emerge from the rock.

Blake stares at it, her eyes open wider than ever.

The drawing, the painted comet, is falling towards her.

Very slowly, it moves in Blake’s direction until it stays at her eye level. Enormous, titanic, brilliant. Suspended in the air. The friction caused by the contact with the atmosphere causes it to burst into flames. The comet explodes in burning colors in all directions, dangerously close to Blake’s face. And the piece of stone is shaped into crystalline materials that shine like jewels. Her eyes are now able to notice even the smallest detail. Every crevice of the rock, every spark, every glass, every movement. The comet falls, falls, inevitably, upon Blake.

Her body falls back completely and she hits her head against the rocky ground.

At the same time, the comet collides with Blake’s body.

 

* * *

 

She’s falling, sinking.

Or maybe she’s rising.

Blake feels like she’s drifting in the middle of an imprecise space. She hears the crackling of a fire, the sound of flames consuming something alive. A huge comet shines in the wide night sky.

The comet suddenly cracks and a part of it begins to fall down. Small but lethal, it pierces the sky at dizzying speed, leaving a trail of ice and fire behind, and blurs the edges of the fuzzy space Blake’s in.

Water. The sound of water drops fills her senses. With a thud, Blake feels like she’s drowning. Ever deeper, the water surrounds her all around. Soft and slippery, it soaks every inch of her body. But Blake doesn’t need to breathe. She watches the bubbles dance around her, tickling her skin as she continues to fall.

The cord on her wrist extends into infinity. Like a bond. Like time. Blake clings tightly as the universe drags her. It twists. It spins. It changes. It curls up. It breaks free. And it falls. And Blake falls with it.

The meteor falls in a village in the mountains. It engulfs them with its purple, red, blue, yellow, orange fire. It swallows it. Like a drop in the water, the wave it causes when it crashes stretches in the atmosphere, like a promise. Many people die. A lake is formed and the village is completely destroyed. The houses, the crops, the people. There is nothing left.

Blake watches the time go by, curling between her fingers and slipping away quickly. Years pass, and around the lake a village reappears. The lake gives fish, and the iron of the meteor brings prosperity. People live, more people are born, and the town flourishes. The comet comes back. Stars fall like they once did, people die all over again.

It's repeated. And it's repeated. Again and again. And then Blake understands – Since people live on this island, this sequence of events has happened twice.

People tried not to lose this awareness, as this would happen again. Again and again. They tried to find ways to pass it from one generation to the next, using methods that lasted longer than words – representing the comet as a dragon, or as a cord. Making dances that symbolize the comet when it splits.

Again, another eternity passes. Time extends, stretches, entangles itself and makes a new bond. Something pure that hasn’t existed before. Something good.

A tiny cell, full of life. Of prosperity. Of hope.

Then it’s two. Four. Eight. Sixteen. It bounces in the blurry space before Blake’s eyes. And it grows, it grows strong as time continues to spiral around it, around them.

Blake hears a baby crying.

Small, pink and fragile. Her cheeks are puffy, and her eyes are tightly shut, drawing everybody’s attention to her. Her little head is covered by a thin layer of silky blond hair. Her petite body is full of energy, vitality, strength, excitement.

“You'll be called Yang.”

On the other end of her tiny hand, holding dearly a finger, the soft voice of a mother.

Lying in a white hospital bed, her crimson look is tired but tender, almost sweet. Her jet-black hair is scattered on the pillow, unkempt; but her lips are smiling, giving off relief. And she only has eyes for her baby. The smallest being she’s ever seen. A warm feeling spreads through her chest. An instant of contemplation. A happy moment.

And quite drastically, they cut off the umbilical cord, breaking the bond that linked these two beings together into one.

This is how, by cutting a thread, a new person falls into the world.

 

* * *

 

“You two are daddy’s biggest treasures.”

A blonde man smiles, with his eyes full of pride. Next to him, a different woman holds his hand tenderly. Her silver eyes glow with the color of the moon when she looks at him. In her arms, a little girl hugs both of them tightly. A big smile spreads across her face, framed by two pigtails of blond and rebellious hair.

The three of them walk through a field of flowers. The girl jumps and runs around them, laughing. Life is simple. Everything’s fine. A new start.

 

“You’ll be the big sister now.”

The little girl has grown some more. She is leaning on her silver-eyed mother's belly, wide and lumpy because she is about to bring another life to this world. The girl can barely contain her excitement, and her parents know.

The woman caresses her cheeks sweetly, telling her how it’ll be like when the baby is born, and how she’ll be the best big sister. The dad pats her head, looking at them both; the pride feels light in his chest.

 

“Your name’s Ruby, and you’re gonna be my best friend.”

The girl leans over a wooden crib. Inside, a tiny pale baby looks back at her with curiosity. Her eyes are as silver as her mother’s, and the thin layer of hair on her head is dark, not blonde like hers. Still, the girl only feels adoration for her little sister, and she can't seem to wait to play with her.

Meanwhile, she sits around and tells her stories.

 

“Grandma, when are mommy and daddy coming back?”

The little girl asks naively, but her big sister knows better. Their parents are not coming back home.

They're at the front part of their apartment. Their grandma came one stormy night and, since then, she hasn’t left. The girls look out the window, hoping to see the familiar yellow car across the street. Grandma doesn’t answer, and the kid doesn’t ask again.

“I’m sorry, my girls,” it’s all she manages to say. The little girl doesn’t understand. The big sister wishes she didn’t. Bonds that are cut all of a sudden, mercilessly. Bonds that cry.

 

“I couldn’t save them…”

A scary woman often visits their apartment lately. Her eyes glow red like the fire, and she makes the girls nervous. Grandma always takes her to a separate room to talk to her, closing the door behind them.

The woman weeps deeply, warm tears falling down her cheeks. She’d never loved anyone as much as she had loved that man. Anyone, but herself. That’s why she left. She couldn’t handle the thought of a life without her freedom. But now that there’s nothing left, she only has her suffering. But that won’t change the past.

 

“No, I can’t. I won’t take care of them.”

Her gaze of fire points to the other end of the room. Her chest glows with pain.

“How dare you say this? Are you abandoning Yang again? You’re her mother!”

The arguments between that woman and Grandma grow stronger each day. The harshness of her words digs into the blond girl, who silently listens behind the door, where they can’t see her. Thick tears fall from her eyes, messy as her life. She slides down the wall to the floor, burying her face in between her knees; trying to get rid of the feeling that all of this is, somehow, her fault.

“I loved Taiyang, but I never asked for any of this!”

The fierceness, violence in her voice roars inside the apartment. A full stop. A chapter’s ending. A bond that breaks and bleeds.

“Get out!”

Both the woman and the grandmother are way too old to change the order of their priorities. The woman with the flaming eyes can't stand it anymore and leaves. She never comes back.

 

“Yang, Ruby. From now on, you’ll be living with Grandma Calavera.”

The ringing of some bells resounds everywhere. The three women are in the sanctuary, the girls sitting in front of their grandma, listening to their lives change.

Grandma takes care of them. The days pass with ease, and the pain normalizes until it's a simple memory. Still, the feeling of having been abandoned by her mother never really leaves Yang’s mind.

 

Once again, the string that manages time is wrapped in the memory, sliding away. The sanctuary is left behind, getting smaller and smaller as time continues to flow, advance, ascend.

Blake tries to hold on to it.

To hold on to Yang.

Desperately.

 

* * *

 

_These are…_

_Yang’s memories?_

Blake is helplessly trapped in the middle of a dizzying torrent that drags her to its will from one memory to another. The torrent that belongs to Yang's timeline.

 

* * *

 

**“Who are you?”**

Words, written with black ink, stand out in a sheet of paper. Blake recognizes her handwriting in Yang’s notebook. Next to it, a pen, a rubber and a pencil with designs of bees.

Time goes on, it continues to whirl around Blake. These are the days of the body exchange she knows so well.

 _Who am I?_ , Blake hears Yang’s voice in her head, everywhere, in Yang’s memory. _I should be the one doing the asking! Who are you!?_

Blake sees herself in her room in Atlas, but that’s not her. She watches how, letter by letter, Yang writes her name in Blake’s hand before going to sleep.

**“Yang”**

So Blake sees it when she wakes up. A silent answer to her question. A new start. The beginning of their bond.

 

Blake sees Yang’s face in the mirror. Her frown. Her blond mane collected in a high ponytail. Her big lilac eyes focused. But that isn’t Yang either.

Blake remembers this moment. With a black marker, she wrote ‘idiot’ on her cheek. It was Blake’s little revenge because Yang did that to her before.

Connected, existing together with time flowing against them. The scene changes.

 

The city of Atlas that Blake sees through Yang's eyes shines as if it were a distant and unknown place. The streets, the buildings, the sky, the people. Everything glows around her in a way Blake has never seen before. Every detail looks huge, important. Everything is brimming with energy around her. Even though Yang and her have the same organs of vision, Blake feels like she’s seeing a completely different world.

 

“I’m kinda jealous…”

Blake hears a whisper coming from Yang. She's sitting on her bed, barely awake. Her blond hair falls off her shoulders in a messy way. She looks _beautiful_. Her gaze overflows with sadness, as if it came from the deepest part of her.

“They must’ve found each other by now…”

It's the day of Blake’s date with Sun. Yang glances at herself in the mirror as she puts on her uniform and combs her mane. The string of time is wrapped around her hair. Orange, like sunset, like dusk. The end of a day, of a dream, of a bond.

On her cheeks, thick tears roll down. Her face is confused, as if there were a thousand reasons to be sad, but none of them strong enough to make her burst like that.

“Tears…?” Yang mumbles to herself. “I…”

Blake tries to get close to her, trying to move inside this hazy space where she’s floating, to reach her. A hint of nostalgia breaks through her, and Blake remembers mornings when she also found tears in her eyes and wondered why.

 

“I’m going to Atlas,” Yang tells Ruby. Her voice sounds spontaneous.

They’re walking out of the sanctuary, on their way to school. Yang seems troubled, hesitant. The dark circles under her eyes hold hopes that are starting to break.

_To Atlas?_

Blake’s heart skips one, two beats. Yang’s tired smile pierces her like fog when she walks on. Ruby follows her, bombarding her with questions. Yang starts to run.

The flow of time shifts, dragging Blake with strength. The space around her thickens, but she’s still floating. Blake’s chest shrinks.

 

“Oh, right, the comet. Today's the day that's gonna look brighter, isn't it?”

Yang’s on the phone with Pyrrha and Jaune. Her voice sounds muffled, drained. She talks about the comet without joy, as if the world lost its colors. She finishes brushing her hair in front of the mirror. The silhouette of her body is visible under the purple tones of a pretty dress, matching her big eyes. _She’s_ _gorgeous_. Blake’s heart beats with inconstancy, with anxiety, with expectation. With terror.

“Let’s go see the comet,” Pyrrha and Jaune invite her.

 _Don’t go, Yang!_ , Blake screams.

She’s behind the mirror, trapped in her blurred timeline. She knows what happens next. She’s trembling, holding the cord that connects her with the time and that sways like waves of water. Yang’s so close. She’s right there, on the other side. But she can’t hear Blake. Her cry comes to her world through the sound of a metal bell in her room. A slight breeze rocking her hair. Blake can't reach her.

_Yang, get out of there!_

Blake begs her. Despair bathes her voice like a blizzard. She tries to drag herself towards her. Pull the string. Break the memory. Reach for her.

_You have to run before the comet crashes!_

She feels tears falling down her cheeks, out of control, and she can't breathe. But Blake doesn’t care. Her entire universe has narrowed, so much so that she can only see Yang’s figure through the glass, through time.

_Yang! Please get out of there!_

Blake screams as loud as she can, as clear as she can. She puts her whole body and soul into crossing the flow of the world and get to her. But Blake’s voice doesn't reach her ears.

Yang’s sad eyes gaze beyond Blake’s. Lilac spills over through the cracks of space, and Blake falls.

 

On the day of the festival, Yang watches with her friends the comet, already closer than the moon itself. The sky is split in two by the vision of its tail, a thousand colors burning in the darkness of the night.

They just stare, fascinated by the beautiful spectacle. Jaune and Pyrrha hold hands. Yang looks away for a second, and her irises are filled with the glow of the comet.

Then, the horror.

The comet shatters into countless shooting stars, each one shining brighter. They are scattered across the sky like fireworks. Dazzling, fascinating, lethal. And one of the big rocks turns into a meteor, wrapped in fire and ice, crackling in the silence. It starts to fall to the ground.

_Run away, Yang!_

Blake screams with all her might. A throbbing pain strikes through her chest, rough and sharp like a stalagmite. She feels like she’s splitting in two. The world is falling apart. Blake knows what's about to happen. She doesn’t want to see it, not with her own eyes. She doesn’t want to lose her again, having her so close. But Blake’s cries don't reach her, and her tears spread like broken pieces of glass through the flow of time.

_Yang, go! Now!_

She sees the terror lurking in Yang’s eyes. She knows stars don't fall, not like this. Above her head, the sky crumbles into a thousand pieces.

_Get out of there, please! Please!_

Yang sees the rocks fall to the ground before she can process what's going on. All around her, everywhere, large rock stones fall from the skies, shrouded in flames. They collide with the earth, with the people, with the valley. And they break everything, tearing apart all that is in their way. An ancient and dark feeling overwhelms her mind, her body, her world. The deepest and most visceral terror, black and sticky, impossible to escape. Suddenly, she _knows_ that she won't come out of this alive. That her life ends there, at the mercy of a comet that keeps detaching pieces of sky, devastating everything. Her ears only hear the sound of the earth breaking around her, and the cries of her friends. But she can't run, her feet are glued to the ground. Her eyes are fixed on the comet that's right above her head, ardent and inevitable like a titanic and gigantic burning eye, about to consume her.

_Yang, Yang, Yang!_

Blake screams, she cries and she kicks. She fights with all her strength to move in this diffuse universe, in this timeline that doesn't belong to her. She wants to break the thread. To break destiny. To fall into Yang’s world and hold her while the inevitable happens around them. Blake shakes violently in all directions, defying the control of the universe. Her joints hurt, twist, as if they were about to split from her body. Her head is spinning, aching. Blake can't do anything, just cry and yell at her to save herself, to save herself, to _live_.

_YANG!_

In the end, the star falls.

**Author's Note:**

> Back on the Bumbleby train! I'll try to update every week but I have finals coming soon so I'm not promising anything. Just know that I'll finish it sooner or later.  
> I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I do writing it. This story as well as the 'Your Name' movie mean so much to me, I'm very happy I can share this with all of you.  
> This is going to be a wild ride none of us are prepared for!  
> PS: Friendly reminder that some people that are reading this haven't watched the movie, so careful with spoilers!


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